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...EBB AND FLO... 

AND 

OTHER SHORT STORIES 


By AMELIA WILLARD HILLIER 


J. M. WILLIAMS & SON 
PRINTERS 
Waunakee, Wisconsin 


Copyrighted by 

AMELIA WILLARD HILLIER 
190 8 



of OONffRESS.^^ 
iwo «ooles Hecewast 

OCT 12 WOB I 

! 


iOKV/ i£i*‘ r-iiW> 

CU AAc, «!«<». g 

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CONTENTS 





Page 

Ebb and Flo - 1 

Raising the Dead - 45 

Student’s Lark - 48 

Deaf Auntie - 58 

The Minister’s Daughter 58 

The Lost Couple - 80 

Peter Pringles Plight - 86 

Home Again - 93 

Etta Elder’s Unknown Way 96 

Laura Louften’s Ideal - 112 

The Little Traveler - 118 

The Silly Girls - 122 

Cold Reason Versus Love 125 

Hugo, The Hermit - 132 

The Light Went Out - 144 

Hunting With A Marriage License 149 
Pickeled Pansy - 153 

Grandma’s Story - 156 

Sale of the Spotted Calf 161 

Fresh Air Kids - 167 

Martha Goodwin’s Help 174 

Mrs. Porter’s April Story 185 

On The Waves ‘ - 191 

Coy Cox - - 207 

A Letter In The Snow - 217 

The Jail Birds - 231 

The Woman Tramp - 237 


Seeing H im As He Was 241 

The King - 246 

Dr. Dunham’s Adopted Son 251 

The Yellow Dog 256 

On The Track 262 

Her Stratagem - 266 


INTRODUCTION. 

Mt Dear Friends : 

Without apology, I now present 
this volume of short stories, hoping that it may 
prove a pleasure and pastime to my readers ; for 
I can truly say, it has been written because of my 
delight in depiciting life as a close observer may 
find it, to a more or less extent. 

Sincerely Yours 

Mrs. Amelia Willard Hillier 
Waunakee, Wis. 


, I '» 



EBB AND FLO. 

Chapter I. 

FLORA PARSON. 

“Were all the realm of nature mine, 

That were a present far too small; 

Love so amazing, so divine. 

Demands my soul, my life, my all.” 

Thus sang a voice on the back porch of Esq. Par- 
son’s house ; the words fell on the ears of Flora Par- 
son as she stood before the mirror making her toi- 
let, in her elegantly furnished room. She was ar- 
rayed in white, and was engaged in pinning back 
her fluffy golden hair. The smile that usually lit 
her face faded, and a slight frown clouded her coun- 
tenance as she remarked, — “I do wish our house- 
keeper would cease chanting such doleful hymns; 
it is enough to render one weary of religion. I’m 
a member of the church, and I believe myself good, 
yes just as good as those that go around with a cof- 
fin stamped on their faces. I do not belie s^e that 
God requires ''My time, soul and all”. It’s enjoy- 
ments and not sorrow is what we should seek.” 

Silence reigned for a few moments; meantime 
Flo, as she was called, in a meditative mood drew 
on her gloves. The same voice quavered — 

“By cool Siloam’s shady rill 
The lily must decay; 

The rose* that blooms beneath the hill 
Must shortly fade away.” 

1 


“Must I fade? 0!how provoking Dorcas is,” 
said Flo, viewing her mirrored form in the large 
French glass. The shadow that beclouded her us- 
ually sunny brow disappeared on beholding her own 
lovliness, like a fleecy cloud eclipsing the sun in a 
summer’s sky. 

“Sweet Sixteen,” she said, and smiled as pleas" 
ant thoughts again filled her mind. Her’s was a 
face one does not meet every day; so innocent and 
pure, yet more noble than pretty; more attractive 
and commanding than sweet. Her dark violet eyes 
bordering on brown, possessed a deiDth a philoso- 
pher might, at times, fail to fathom ; and, too, her 
innermost soul was ever true. It was said by many 
that “her eyes spoke plainer than her lips the im- 
port of her heart, for she was slow in speech and 
dignified in her bearing; hence she was looked up- 
on by her classmates and instructors, as well as 
her multitude of friends, as the soul of honor. 
Many a time she murmured to herself — “Oh! why 
do people think me so good and noble ! I am un- 
worthy of their exalted opinion of me ; God knows 
better. He knows oftimes that contempt, envy, 
jealousy, and even malice, lurk in my heart. ’’Her 
home was on an avenue in a small city. Her fath- 
er was one of the well-to-do town’s people whom 
all respected, and had held town offices at various 
times. Her mother was a well known society wom- 
an, a leader in fashions, etc., popular perhaps more 
on account of her wealth and position than her 
true goodness. Flo was the gem of the household ; 
her wishes usually were law at home, and not in- 
frequent in her school set. 

Flo wended her way down the winding stairs, 
burdened with her books, as the notes of the school 
bell broke the silence of their usually quiet street. 
She paused in her mother’s room to kiss her good- 
bye, remarking, — “Only one year more, mother, 
2 


and you mail hail me as a ‘sweet girl graduate’ 
ready for the Yarsity course.” 

Mrs. Parson raised her eyes slowly from tlie nov- 
el she was reading and glanced at her daughter (a 
vision of loveliness). She scanned her critically 
from her dainty hat to the tip of her white shoe. 

“Your hat is not on right, and the bows of your 
shoe laces are not even. I wonder if you will ever 
learn to dress yourself properly.” remarked her 
mother with a slight frown, then a smile j^layed 
about her lips as Flo adjusted her hat and re-tied 
her shoe-lace. “Excuse me, mother, I’m a care- 
less lassie.” Then turning, kissed her mother and 
hurried away. 

Mrs. Parson did not at once resume her reading, 
but instead paused to meditate on the beauty of 
her daughter, and her anticipated rosy future. 
“Yes, they should go abroad after her school-days 
were terminated, some four years hence, and her 
Flo should yet marry a titled man, and her name 
and picture should be in tlie newspapers. Yes, lier 
Flo was too fair a flower to bloom unseen, “and 
waste its sweetness on the desert air” of their city. 

The smile that played over Mrs. Parson’s come- 
ly features was not so much prompted by love, as 
by pride. Her’s had been a checkered life, and 
her finer feelings had long ago been annihilated by 
incidents she preferred to bury. 

Chapter II. 

THE NEW PKOFESSOP. 

By the throng of high school lads and lassies 
Flo was greeted and she had cheery greetings for 
each and every one as they threaded their way to 
the new high school building on the highlands of 
B — . It was surrounded mostly by native oaks; 
as yet the school plot remained in its native state, 
just as God’s skillful fingers had fashioned it. On 
3 


this early September morning it was as balmly as 
a day in June. No frost had yet crimsoned the 
leaves, and yet they were slowly dying, and the 
soft zephyrs were gently winging them earthward 
where blustering winds later would scatter them 
mercilessly hither and thither. The sun lent its 
brightness to glorify the scene and inspire all to 
praise the giver of all that is good and beautiful. 

Into the new building, slowly and gracefully the 
procession wended its way, (the men and women 
of to-morrow.) 

As the senior class settled in tlieir seats, the 
new Professor became the center of attraction. 
He, realizing his situation, whicli rendered him 
ungraceful (a trifle awkward, as the students af- 
terwards expressed it). And tliough a college 
graduate, he flushed and dropped his eyes, and 
his hands trembled as he perceived the amuse- 
ment that lurked in their mischievous eyes. Per- 
haps some were not as well bred as they ought to 
have been, j^et what could one expect in the com- 
parative wilderness. He had ever been a book- 
worm instead of a society ideal. It was quite ev- 
ident his income had never permitted him to in- 
dulge in the good things of life, for he had sup- 
ported himself since he was ten years of age. And 
being self-conscious he appeared intensely awk- 
ward as he towered aloft some 6 feet one inch, be- 
ing lean of limb, with large hands and feet. His 
mouth was large and Arm, bespeaking decision. 
His nose was Grecian and rather iDointed. His 
high cheek bones rendered, the upper part of his 
face heavy. His eyes were large and brown, (The 
pupils affirmed that they were wolfiish) with shag- 
gy brows. His forehead was broad and lofty, 
crowned with a mat of brown ringlets, “the only 
thing pretty about him,” the girls asserted, (yes, 
4 


girls see beauty if any exists, though they dearly 
love to criticise.) 

All the first day the Professor was unable to re- 
gain his self-composure; and during recess and the 
noon hour (as many brought their luncheon) the 
students collected in groups and conversed in low 
tones, after casting fugitive glances at him, and 
suppressed their giggles behind handkerchiefs; 
though he could not liear the topic of their conver- 
sation, even yet he felt positive that he formed 
the subject of their close communion, which ren- 
dered him more and more sensitive. 

After his evening meal, which he did not at all 
relish (not because it was lacking in any manner, 
but because he was lacking an appetite to consume 
it) he decided to take a walk to settle his nerves. 
It was a cloudy evening, and he choose the 
back streets of the city, because the lamps had 
not been lit) a thing the lamp-lighter usually ne- 
glected to do when the moon was near its full, e- 
ven if it was cloudy. He longed to be alone and 
unseen to commune with himself and the One 
who rules o’er all, in whom liis faith faltered not, 
for his life had been one of many crosses. He 
wore soft shoes, and being a cat-like walker, his 
tread was almost noiseless. All at once, on turn- 
ing a street corner where it Avas very dark, the 
street })eing lined on either side by large trees, he 
found hiiuself in the rear of a posse of girls who 
Avere chattering like magpies; and he was obliged 
to overhear tlieir conversation or retreat, a tiling 
he at first intended to do, but on hearing his name 
Eben Walker, the Professor, mentioned, he was 
compelled hy sheer curiosity to listen, a matter 
his better judgement cautioned him not to do;but 
‘‘though the spirit may be willing to obey^the dic- 
tates of conscience, the flesh is weak.” ‘We are 
all poor critters” (as widow Bedot puts it) and, 

5 


walking in their wake, Professor Walker listened 
to tlie following torturing conversation. 

“Say, Nell,” said one, “what does Mr. Walker, 
our new professor, remind you of?” 

“Of the Humpty-dumpty my little brother got 
for a birthday present. I’ll bet he’d dance just 
like it if there was a string on him and we could 
pull it.” (laughter) 

“He’s like a grand-dad spider,” asserted one. 

“A devil-fish,” quoth another. 

“His nose is as pointed as the church steeple, 
only the other side up.” Each comment was pun- 
ctured by a merry laugh. 

“Say girls,” said one, “seriously I‘ll bet he 
never knew what it was to have a full meal.” 

He‘s one of those students that have survived 
on a crust in a garret to secure an education, so 
they may shine later on in the world,” said one. 

“Hum!” retorted one, “I should say the mice 
had eaten-half of his crust while he was pouring 
over his physics.’ 

“Well, I‘d rather feed my body than stuff my 
brain.” remarked a fleshy girl. 

“Tell us some news,” said another with a laugh 

‘Now girls, I believe that fellow has had a cross,’ 
intimidated one. 

“Lots of them hung on ‘em since he fell from 
Jupiter.’ interrupted another merry-andrew. 

“How still you are, Flo, come gives us your o- 
I)inion. Ho you think he is a fool or a martyr?’ 
asked Nell. 

“Guess he will prove to be both before he is 
through here,’ chirruped one. 

“Well,’ said Flo slowly, “if you will permit me 
to speak I‘ll simply state my opinion.’ 

“Spit it out,’ said several in chorus, “We are 
all attention.’ 

“I never met Abraham Lincoln of course, as the 

6 


assassain‘s knife slow liim before I came to earth; 
but I think our new ])rofessor, at least his lank 
figure resembles Lincoln's picture; as for his face 
that does some. But he‘s rather better looking 
than good father Abraham. I’ve no doubt that at 
his age Lincoln was (piite as ungraceful as Mr. 
Walker is.’ said Flo. 

‘‘Whew !’ laughed one of the girls, “guess Flo 
has peeped behind tlie curtain of outside appear- 
ances and discovered the real hero that lies be- 
neath the surface of our new professor. Yes such 
a liero as men call noble, and woman (poor weak- 
lings) fall down and worship,’ 

‘“Well, he may be palateable internally,’ said 
one jeeringly, “but his external proportions that 
loom up above us is not very tasty to our men- 
tal vision at least.’ 

“Handsome is that handsome does,’ retorted Flo 

“Ho! ho! What has he performed that is hand- 
some? A spider on a hot stove would perform 
more gracefully.’ cried Nell. 

In spite of the Professor’s effort to repress a 
sneeze he failed, and thus betrayed his presence 
to the girls. Tlie girls turned; some were inclined 
to titter, but all shamefacedly turned the corner, 
and in hushed silence hurried home. 

Many a bitter pill had the professor previously 
swallowed, for lie had been a child of sorrow, yet 
for the time being this seemed the most galling to 
down ; yet there was one solace, the girl in white, 
with golden hair, stood up for him. It was but a 
little thing to do yet it kept him from breaking 
down completely. O ! how little we realize how much 
lies in a look, word, or an act, that we at random 
send — hearts they may break or mend, and lend a 
buoy to lloat them over earth ‘s muddy waters. As 
the professor sought his couch that night, to woo 
the god of sleep, Flo Parson’s words rang in his 
7 


ears drowning all the unkind ones he had been so 
unfortunate as to overhear. Yes, it was possible 
he yet might be something more than just an or- 
dinary individual ; he might, yes would make liis 
mark in the world, and some day he would stand 
up like a man, all his awkwardness gone, and in- 
form Flo, his guardian angel whom had minister- 
ed unto him, that his greatness he owed to her. 

Chapter III. 

THE NEW SOHOLAK. 

A week passed. Professor Walker had, to some 
extent, recovered his self-possession and was be- 
coming resigned to his position. Yet still the mis- 
chievious glances of the girls at times upset his 
gravity, yet he felt that he was gaining ground, 
and in time would be complete master of the situ- 
ation. Flo alone wore an innocent look, yet he 
was not positive whether it was real or assumed : 
he had caught her casting sly glances at others 
with a half concealed smile on her face when she 
believed him not observing her. Then his con- 
science accused him of being suspicious, that per- 
haps it was not him she was thinking of. During 
the week Flo found favor in his eyes, or at least 
the pupils, one and all, so affirmed. On Monday 
of the second week as the pupils settled in their 
seats, the Professor felt conscious that something 
out of the ordinary had occured, and on looking a- 
round to discover the reason why, he beheld in an 
heretofore vacant seat a girl the very image of Flo 
Parson. He would have naturally presumed her 
to be Flo‘s sister but for the mistified look of the 
pupils, and the fixed stare of Flo herself. He look- 
ed first at one and then at the other. Their hair 
was of the same shade, done up the same ; the 
complexion of both was fair; their eyes a blueish 
brown; but while Flo‘s mouth was square, denot- 
8 


ing firmness, the other’s was smaller with thin 
lips, denoting indecision and even revenge. Both 
were clad in white, bespeaking their tastes were 
much alike. 

Flo‘s eyes were riveted on the new pupil; first 
she was surprised, then amused, then she felt con- 
cerned ; a peculiar sensation passed over her like 
a shadow falling athwart her pathway, as a pass- 
ing cloud may eclipse the sun for a short interval, 
which promoted an ill for boding in her heart. 

Whom this girl might be was more than she 
could determine. Her parents had early informed 
her that they had no living relatives, yet how 
came this girl to so minutely resemble herself, 
was a conundrum she not could solve, nor did she 
find anyone to solve it for her. And as for the oth- 
er girl she was quite as much puzzled. 

Flo noticed that the Professor kept his eyes on 
the new girl, and a pang of jealousy swept over 
her sensitive heart-strings. Slie herself had been 
accustomed to claiming attention, being the most 
popular of her set. What would the outcome be? 

Flo imagined that this new girl, who gave her 
name as Pansy Pratt, was if anything fairer than 
herself, a trilie slighter in her figure, and more 
graceful, and possessed a more winning smile. Was 
her kingdom to be divided? or worse yet, per- 
chance her throne was to be usurped by this stran- 
ger, an interloper. 

What was she to do? she to whom the girls look- 
ed up to, and the boys paid homage to, and even 
the new professor had a tender look in his eyes 
for her. Her love of self predominated, and praise 
had cultivated it until she was exceedingly selfish. 
Not that all praise is flattery ; at the utmost ‘tis 
but a matter of opinion ; while some may be mer- 
ited praise. 

What course should she persue? Should she 

9 


spurn her? if she did, perhaps others might follow 
her example, hence render the life of the fair 
stranger miserable. Then again it might be that 
her standing in life was more lofty than hers and 
in fighting against fate she might render matters 
worse ; besides she had never been guilty of such 
a mean act, and her better judgment won her to 
choose discretion, therefore she decided to win her 
as a friend, even by so doing she warmed a serpent 
in her bosom. Pansy proved to be the daughter of 
Dr. Pratt, who had recently moved into the town. 
Being wealthy and stylish they soon became pop- 
ular. 

Flo and Pansy became intimate friends, yet each 
felt that they were rivals, and although they were 
very sweet toward each other, like twin roses, yet 
in each heart, unseen except by God’s omnipotent 
eye, a little green viper of jealousy lay hidden, 
and on the food which it was quite certain to be 
fed, it would in due time assume the proportions 
of a monster, uncontrolable, and if the Unseen 
Hand did not restrain it, it would ruin the happi- 
ness of both their lives. Pansy Pratt was three 
years Flo^s senior, her mother had died seven years 
previous. She had been a petted, spoiled child 
from her earliest recollections, and since the death 
of her mother she had run the house to suit her 
fancy. Her father being a physician was away 
from home much of the time, and Pansy had ruled 
the domestics. She was inclined to be insincere, 
underhand, and sport loving; yet careful was she 
to hide this propensity from those that were the 
objects of her derision. 

As Flo grew intimate with her, being innocent 
minded herself she trusted her implicitly .Flo knew 
she was a humor lover and made dry jokes regard- 
ing the looks, words, and manners of others, Avhen 
alone with her, but she presumed she only did it 
10 


to amuse her, meaning no harm thereby. Her 
outside demeanor was exceedingly modest, truth- 
ful, sympathetic, and soliciting confidence of ev- 
ery one, so much so that Flo realized that Pansy 
had won her crown of popularity from her. Yet so 
winsome was she that Flo, in spite of the envy she 
bore her, liked and trusted her all too far. Flo be- 
came careless in her remarks when they were a- 
lone together, and confided in her, even the intent 
of her heart, let alone her acts. In turn, or to learn 
Flo‘s private aff'airs. Pansy related her past, pres- 
ent, and also her future hopes, and Flo was inno- 
cent enough to believe her. She showed her a 
diamond ring which she rarely wore, stating she 
was engaged to a millionaire’s son who was now tra- 
veling in Europe with his tutor. Pansy‘s ways and 
words were so honest and convincing that Flo doubt- 
ed not her assertions, though sometimes she con- 
tradicted her own statements, yet her explana- 
ttsns were plausible and reassuring. 

Chapter IV. 

FLO‘S FIKST FANCY. 

It was after the commencement of the spring 
term that Flo began to realize that she had lost 
her heart. She was not to be reproached for her 
fancy ; all girls at some time in life, mostly at 
school-girl era, realize that they have awakened to 
the fact, often all unconscious, and gradually, that 
their hearts have gone out to another. Sometimes 
to be crushed, and at other times the love that 
has passed on to another, is returned with its e- 
quivalent, and happy is the heart, yet still later 
may realize unfaithfulness which burns with bit- 
terness, even unto hatred. 

When alone in her room Flo wrung her hands 
and wept, ''The Professor has stolen my heart, 0! 
what shall I do? He cares not for me, he has been 
11 


kind to me, he has actually smiled when I‘ve said 
Goon Morning, but his smile is more fascinating 
when Pansy addresses him in her soft ladylike 
way. I ouglit not to fear her, she is engaged, but 
that wont make him love me. Yes he has been 
courteous to me, others have noticed it and said 
I should win him yet. Well, I don^t know much 
about men folks, having no brother, and father 
rarely converses with me.’ 

If he had bestowed on me marked attention in- 
stead of such dignified regards, I should never have 
cared for him, but he has taught me to look up to 
him as a dower to the sun. But I suppose wom- 
en are mostly that way, are won by that which 
they cannot readily attain. I do wish I had a 
mother I could confide in, but mother thinks only 
of style, and marrying me oft* to a Duke or an Earl. 
Guess I’ll talk it over with Pansy, she has been 
out in society, is three years my senior, and has 
had lots of beaus. She has had no mother to keep 
her in, wliile my mother wouldn^t let me have a 
beau, she says there is none here fit for me to as- 
sociate Avith. Father talks to him often, I see 
them on the street corner together, but he never 
asks him here. It is father's AA^ay, there seems to 
be sometliing unpleasant tAvixt father and mother ; 
he Avorships her, but she cares only for his money.’ 

If Flo liad only had a guardian angel to have 
Avarned her of the treaclierous Pansy Iioav much 
pain of lieart might luive been averted. 

It AA^as in the tAvilight of eventide that Flo sought 
Pansy in lier room, before the lamps were lighted, 
PASSION HOUR Ave might call it. Oh ! if she could 
luiA^e plainly discerned Pansy's seraph-like face as 
it AA as being distorted into tliat of a demon, as she 
Confided her heart’s secret to Pansy. 

"0, hoAvloA^ely!' said Pansy, "It reminds me 
of my lirst love, You must make him give you a 
12 


hu^e diamond ring, like mine.’ 

‘‘But,’ replied Flo. “I am not sure he cares for 
me. Besides he is poor, I should be satisfied with 
a plain gold band. It is he, not jewels of adorn- 
ment that my heart craves. Love abideth forev- 
er; it is immortal; ])ut gold and diamonds are 
earthly, and on earth must remain.’ 

“Oh, fie ! Flo you’d make a good missionary .You 
better go and convert the heathen, and deed him- 
the gawky-over to me. I‘ll make a man of him. 
I‘ll break his heart first. Few men are of intrinsic 
value until some woman has smitten them, and 
left them a cross to bear. It takes the conceit out 
of them and renders them submissive. Even God, 
you know, loves a broken and contrite spirit.’ de- 
clared Pansy with a mocking laugh, which cut 
deep into Flo‘s tender, loving heart, that was to- 
tally unused to such rough usage. 

“O! Pansy, how can you talk as you do? The 
Professor is not conceited ; he looks as if he al- 
ready had a burden to bear.’ 

“Beg pardon, Flo, you are fresh, I‘m mature. 
I‘ve eaten apples of Sodom and know tlieir bitter- 
ness. You poor little innocent, and you love the 
Professor with his great brown eyes of fathomless 
depths, and whose glances penetrate right down 
into the hidden recesses of ones heart. I have of- 
ten thought him a mind-reader. To confess the 
truth, I believe he loves me, yet knows by my 
coldness to him that I’m engaged and dont care a 
fig for him. Perhaps as we are so much alike, he 
will marry you, because he knows I am not to be 
had. He, I think, is one that if he can’t get just 
what he desires, will be willing to accept a fair 
imitation. So there, my dear double, I am going 
to assist you all I can,’ declared Pansy with a 
shrug of her shoulders. 

Flo thanked her courteously and wended her way 

13 


homeward meditating on the queerness of Pansy, 
and tlie misgivings of her own heart, and wonder- 
ed if she had acted wisely by confiding in Pansy, 
who liad first confided her engagement to lier. 

Chapter V. 

THE DRAWING OP THE CARICATURE. 

When next Flo and Pansy met, Pansy was the 
essence of sweetness, promising fair to aid Flo in 
capturing the Professor. 

Pansy being an adept at drawing, especially 
caricatures, offered to give lessons to Flo, hence 
Flo copied several of Pansy’s caricatures, one be- 
ing the Professor. All his awkward outlines much 
exaggerated; and Flo told Pansy it was unfair to 
draw such pictures of so good a man, rendering 
him so repulsive, even ugly looking, while he was 
not really bad looking, was even improving in 
looks and appearances every day. 

‘‘Love is blind. The Professor is as liomely as 
could be made,” said Pansy with a leer. 

After several attempts Flo made copies of sev- 
eral of her caricatures, and one of the best was a 
copy of the Professor. 

“Now.” declared Flo, “my samples must be con- 
signed to the dames. Of them I am ashamed, es- 
pecially the one of the Professor.” 

“Yes, yes. I’ll burn them when I liglit the fire 
for tea an hour hence, as father will not be home for 
an hour, and our domestic is away.” said Pansy. 

“Be sure you do.” was Flo’s parting injunction. 

Oh. treacherous Pansy! As soon as Flo had ta- 
ken her departure, she placed all Init the Profes- 
sor’s picture in the kitchen stove, and after writ- 
ing Flo’s name beneath it she placed it in lier 
sketch book. Pansy was a plotter as well as an ar- 
tist, and had a way of her own of bringing things 
to pass as she willed them. 

14 


“Yes,” thought she, “the Professor must see 
fair Flo‘s handiwork, and if it don’t cool his ardor 
for her, tlien I’m no guesser. O ! if I could only 
banish Flo from his sight and hearing, I might win 
him, seeing we are so much alike in looks. Yet we 
are so unlike in disposition. Why, I’d have a doz- 
en ideas conceived, matured, or thrown aside as 
valueless, while poor, honest,innocent Flo was try- 
ing to discover if one cared a wee mite for lier or 
not. Why, the goose don’t know that the Pro- 
fessor is liead over heels in love with her, when I 
recognized the fact the first hour of school. Yes 
liis first timid glance at her convinced me of the 
fact. Ah ! well I need not worry, he in his posi- 
tion dare not show it, plainly at least, in act or 
speech, yet he cannot help his eyes tell-taleing oc- 
casionally, though he is to terrible shy about even 
that. What a simpleton Flo is to believe me re- 
garding my engagement. I never had a proposal 
in my life, but that is no fault of mine. Well, I’m 
determined to capture the Professor; so there. It 
is queer that Flo and I both have the same likes. 
It seems as if we must be near of kin, which is 
impossible, for father assured me that the Pratt’s 
were no kinship to the Parson’s.’ 

The following day Pansy invited the Professor 
to tea, stating her father wislied to converse witli 
him on politics, knowing full well that lier father 
would be away from home, which he proved to be, 
hence she had him all to herself, just as she had 
planned, and entertain him well she did. The 
supper was both swellish and nourishing, and she 
well understood the art of conversing in an inno- 
cent, unaffected way ; and too, she had an abun- 
dance of pictures from all parts of the world which 
he was interested in. As a musician she excelled, 
and an hour was spent at the piano, his bass voice 
welled up intermingling with her low tenor. When 
15 


he was about to take his departure she said in an 
indifferent way — 

*‘Oh! you have not looked at my scrap-book of 
drawings; perhaps though they might not interest 
you.’ 

“Drawings,” repeated he, “yes I’m always in- 
terested in art.’ Opening the book he slowly turn- 
ed the leaves commenting on one and another, and 
smiling now and then at some comic illustration. 
At length he came to his own picture ; as he read 
Flo’s name beneath, his countenance fell ; lie turn- 
ed pale and rigid looking. After gazing hxedly at 
it for awhile, he asked sternly, 

‘Did Miss Parson draw this!’ 

“Which one?’ queried Pansy innocently. He 
showed her the illustration, eyeing her keenly. 

“Yes,” said Pansy slowly. “Oli ! I’m so sor- 
ry, Mr. Walker, indeed I am. I had forgotten all 
about it, or I should not have shown you the book. 
Pardon me, do. Flo Avill never forgive me ; please 
don’t inform her. Of course she did it just for 
sport; I asked her for a drawing for my book and 
she drew several of you, to tease me because she 
is envious of me, as she thinks you take more notice 
of me than you do of her. This one I kept, being 
the best, the others were much lender. Any one 
would not think such things of Flo, she is so quiet 
and honest looking ; but often such are tlie most 
deceiving. ‘Still waters run deep, and the devil 
is at the bottom, ’tis said.” 

Mr. Walker closed the book, bit his lip and 
looked fixedly at the floor. After some meditation 
he remarked, 

“I thought Miss Parson a model young lady, a- 
miable to the last degree. Surely I’m disappoint- 
ed in her. I fear I shall never entertain any faith 
in anyone again. I believed lier the very essence 

of — of — ^propriety.’ 


16 


“Possible?” queried Pansy, with a look that 
spoke far more than her words. “ Well,” she add- 
ed, “that is because you do not know her ; Flo and I 
have been on intimate terms since our first meeting, 
almost. At first I was fascinated by her candid, quiet 
simplicity, but gradually 1 read her character ; I 
found her double, or I might say a mask wearer. 
If there is one thing more than another she de- 
lights in, it is making sport of people.” declared 
Pansy. “Well, I ought not to have told you. Please 
don’t mention the matter, for it Avas by merest ac- 
cident you chanced to see the picture.” 

“I have no desire to circulate my discovery,” 
said he, “truly it is no credit to me.” 

“I shall tear it from my sketch-book and burn 
it.” assured Pansy sympathetically, “I never ought 
to have consented to placing it in. I did it to please 
her.” 

“Leave it, leave it there,” demanded Mr. Wal- 
ker, as he took his departure. 

Seeing his misery rendered Pansy equisitely 
happy, for she really believed her act had been 
the means of dashing the Professor’s “golden bowl 
of love” to fragments. And if she could only con- 
tinue to make Flo repulsive to him, she believed 
Flo to proud to humble herself and inquire of him 
regarding his changed conduct toward her. But 
Pansy could not let well enough alone. She felt 
so triumphant on beholding, in the days that fol- 
lowed, the Professor’s coldness toward Flo and her 
utter astonishment at his unwonted treatment of 
her when he heretofore had been, at least, mild. 

Flo could no longer endure the Professor’s frigid 
demeanor toward her which the whole school ob- 
served in wonderment. On finding Flo in tears, 
one evening on calling on her, and in order to tri- 
umph over her and increase her misery. Pansy 
began in a sAveet sympathetic Avay, she related 
17 


how the Professor had called to see her father, and 
how she had accidentally left her sketch book in 
the hall, and how without permission he had pick- 
ed it up and looked at the drawings, and Avhen lie 
came to the one that Flo had drawn of him, the 
book had fallen from his grasp, and he had de- 
manded who the artist might be. She denied tlie 
credit herself, and then he had asked if Flo had 
drawn it. ‘‘He looked so serious I was afraid to 
deny the fact, and he remarked ‘silence gives con- 
sent,’ and then he said ‘I should never have be- 
lieved Miss Parson a girl of that sort. I shall not 
have faith in woman hereafter.’ His look was ter- 
rible, and he left without even a good day. I 
wished to explain but he only shook liis head. So 
don‘t blame me, I never intended he should see 
it.’ said Pansy with tears in her eyes. 

“You promised to burn them all,’ said Flo, tierce- 


ly- 

Yes, I know I did, but that one was so good I 
wished to keep it for a remembrance, as I kept a 
copy of each of the other girls’ drawings Unit I 
gave lessons to. Forgive me, Flo. Let us kiss and 
make up. Truly if he ever loved you he will for- 
give and forget, but you must not kneel to him ; 
for if you do, and you should marry him, later on 
you would have to knuckle down to him all 
your life time. Just keep a bold front as if you 
had done naught you were sorry for, and he will 
respect you the more for it.’ said Pansy. 

Flo spent a sleepless night, and on the follow- 
ing day succeeded in finding the Professor alone, 
and begged his pardon with tears coursing adown 
her cheeks. 

She explained matters as best she might, blam- 
ing herself as well as Pansy, for she was too gen- 
erous a girl to saddle all the blame on another, 
even if it rightly belonged there. 


18 


While he, much embarrassed assured her that 
he freely forgave her, and had entertained no ill 
feelings toward her, adding that he was conscious 
of the fact that school-girls were of a jolly nature ; 
not meaning any harm, although it was not infre- 
quent that there sportive jests pierced to the quick, 
and that she might feel assured that he held no 
malice toward her. And then in a modulating 
tone, and a tender look in his searching eyes, he 
begged her to be careful hereafter regarding hurt- 
ing the feelings of others, which no true lady will 
knowingly do. 

She thanked him as she took her leave, yet felt, 
though he harbored no ill feelings toward her, that 
the tender feelings he previously entertained for 
her had ceased to exist. 

Oupid once slain, 

Shall it live again? 

Time alone will tell the story. 

The last week before Oommencement was a busy 
one for all, and especially a sad one for Flo. The 
Professor wore a dejected countenance, though he 
endeavored to be cheerful. Flo worked early and 
late on her examinations, and passed. 

Pansy, who was a born shirk, managed through 
stealth to crib, and passed also. 

Flo and Pansy were on the program. Flo recit- 
ed a lengthy, and sad piece, well ; her heart being 
in the right tune for seriousness. The applause was 
a subdued one. Pansy recited a comical piece, 
and was well applauded. 

Several others declaimed; thus passsed the day. 

The Professor bid them all adieu, stating he 
should no longer teach, as he was going to attend 
an M. D. college. 


19 


Chapter VI, 

FLO’S MISEEY. 

It was the first day of July, after Commence- 
ment, when the Parson’s were busy packing for a 
journey to a summer resort, that Pansy Pratt call- 
ed, her face lit with triumph. 

“See, see,’ she cried, “I‘ve got a letter from 
Professor Walker, and what do you suppose he has 
written to me?’ Flo’s countenance fell; her heart 
almost ceased beating. She stammered : 

“Has he written to you? I did not suppose any 
of us would ever hear from him again, lie is so 
busy at summer school j^ou know.’ 

“Hum!’ said Pansy, “Well, I guess he has time, 
or at least did take time, to write the Avords he 
dare not speak before he left. I thought he had 
something on his mind, he looked at me so curi- 
ously, and Avhen he shook my hand he gave it such 
a grip that I could scarcely refrain from making 
an outcry. A something too deep for utterance, 
you knoAv, besides he did not have the opportuni- 
ty to meet me alone. Here, read this; you certainly 
will be convinced, foryouknow his penmanship.’ 

The letter was headed Avith a quotation. 

“I choose to AA^rite the thing I durst not speak 
to her Avhom I love.’ 

Flo kneAV full Avell that Pansy could imitate any 
hand Avriting, hence suspicion entered her mind. 

“Where is the eiiA^elope?’ she queried. 

Pansy resenting her query, and surmising her 
doubts, retorted indifferently. 

“O! I don‘t knoAV. That is immaterial. I rarely 
preserve the envelopes of my letters ; even my let- 
ters I usually burn after reading them. I should 
have burned this one but thought it might interest 
you, as you once informed me that you fancied 
him.NoAV you can think no more of him as he don‘t 
care for you. No fellow cares for two girls at the 
20 


same time. Now, Flo, if you are the girl I take 
you for, you will congratulate me, and give me a 
bit of advice.’ 

Flo sat down, feeling weak, and endeavored to 
control her emotion, and hide the heartache, also, 
the hate that was springing into venomous life in 
her bosom. She took the proffered offending scent- 
ed bit of note paper and read while her hand 
trembled and her eyes filled with tears. Pansy 
took it all in greedily, gloating over Flo^s misery. 
After the quotation tlie letter ran as follows — 

My dear Pansy : — 

I possessed not the courage, nor did an 
opportunity present itself for me to unburden my 
heart to you before my leave-taking. As it is 
rarely that many words do much express, I will 
here brieily state that I love you, and ask you to 
be my life companion. 

Trusting you will weigh the matter well, and let 
me know my fate at an early date, 

I remain your devoted servant, 

EBEN WALKER. 

As Flo raised her eyes, the room and all therein 
began to whirl ; but as little chips may turn the 
tide of a stream, which in the course of time may 
be instrumental in turning the course^of a river, 
so ‘twas a mere chance that Mrs. Parson appeared 
ill the doorway. As soon as she beheld Pansy 
Pratt, whom she had not met before, although she 
had frequently called, Mrs. Parson was either out 
to one of the societies, or in her room, hence their 
meeting had been deferred until the present time.) 
Mrs. Parson scanned her face like one in a dream 
for a moment then gave a scream, threw up her 
arms and fell. 

Flo‘s fainting spell was over, she even forgot 
the import of the dreadful letter, for the time 

21 


being. A doctor was summoned. It proved to be a 
paralytic stroke. Mrs. Parson might linger for some 
time as a helpless invalid, but there was no hopes 
of her recovery. 

It was several days before she regained the pow- 
er of speech, then she informed them that Pansy 
was her daughter by her divorced husband ; and 
that Pansy’s father was a drunkard; he had stol- 
en the child from her after she had married Par- 
son, but she had recognized her at sight. Pansy 
was three years older than Flo, she said. 

Dr. Pratt was sent for and admitted she was not 
his own child, but an adopted daughter; that he 
had adopted lier from one of his patients whom Ik 
thought could not recover, but did recover, and 
afterwards begged to have the child again, and he 
had refused to give her up, and soon afterwards 
they moved away so the man could not trace them, 
and he had never heard from him since. They had 
lost a little girl of Pansy’s age, lienee his wife 
thought much of her. Her name was also Pansy, 
“so we did not change it. The man‘s name was 
Perry.’ 

After much persuasion Dr. Pratt agreed ,to let 
the Parson‘s have Pansy, as he was about to take 
unto himself a second wife. 

Much to Flo^s contempt Pansy came there to re- 
side, or preside over the house as an elder sister. 
Pansy spent much time in her mother‘s room; her 
soft sweet ways Avon, not only Mrs. Parson’s af- 
fections, but Mr. Parsoii‘s also. All except old 
Dorcas, the negress, seemed to boAv down and wor- 
shij) sweet Pansy, Avith her AAunsome Avays; there- 
fore she became the soverign of the Parson home. 
Except for Dorcas Flo AA'ould have had no friend. 

Flo grew peevish and gloomy in spite of oldDor- 
cas’ sAveet assurances “that God Avould make all 
things right in the end.’ And to render the cross more 
22 


weighty Pansy said one day in her fascinating way, 

“Oongratulate me, sister, see my new ring, it is 
only a plain gold band such as you said Ebb, dear, 
could afford. I severed my other engagement, and 
returiied the diamond ring. An honest poor man 
is far more worthy of my love than a wealthy son 
of Baal.’ 

Flo grew pale and left the room hurridly, and 
Pansy pouted and asserted, ‘‘Jealousy is more 
cruel than death. O! to have a jealous sister. I’m 
not to blame for Ebb loving me.’ 

It was a miserable year that Flo endured. Her 
fath.er was cross and hard to please ; Dorcas was 
getting old and could not do much work ; and her 
father could not bear new hired girls, so the bulk 
of tlie house work fell on rio‘s shoulders. 

Chapter VII. 

SHADOWS DEEPEN. 

It vcas a glorious Autumn day, and Indian sum- 
mer indeed. The crimson and golden leaves were 
softly falling, borne gently by the zephyrs to the 
soft still green grass on the lawn where stood the 
spacious abode of the Parsons. All-glorious with- 
out, ])ut the King of Terrors had been a recent 
guest. Mrs. Parson had passed away. 

She died as she had lived, a worldly woman. 
Pansy‘s hand was clasped in one of hers, and Mr. 
Parse; n held tlie other. Flo stood, with tearless 
eyes, beside her dying couch; pale and rigid; she 
might have been mistaken for an effigy of Lot‘s 
wife — a“pillar of salt.’ 

“Oh! I cannot die, I want to live,’ said the dy- 
ing woman, “All is so dark. O! what is that I 
hear? It is like the voice of many waters. Hark! 
that sounds like the paddles of a boat; are we by 
the lake side? Don‘t leave me, O ! don‘t, come 
back. The water is deep, the waves are going ov- 
er me, help! help! save me? O, sa — .’ She threw 


up her hands and her spirit took its light to the 
great unknown. 

The following two days were spent in prepara- 
tions for the funeral, an elegant affair it was to 
be. The casket, a white one, was nearly buried 
with flowers. 

It was the day before the funeral that Eben 
Walker came to the Parson home, as Mr. Parson 
had sent for him, which was a great surprise, as it 
was the first time Professor Walker had ever en- 
tered the Parson home, although even at the first, 
when Mr. Walker had come to teach the high 
school there, an intimate friendship had sprung up 
between Mr. Parson and Professor Walker, so much 
so that it had been commented on by the people ; 
and, too, people marveled because he never visit- 
ed the Parsons. And noAV, at the death of Mrs. 
Parson, he came and seemingly made his home 
there. He rode with Mr. Parson, Pansy and Flo 
in tJie closed mourners’ carriage, with crape on 
his hat. At the bier and in going to and fro, Flo 
leaned on her father‘s arm, and Pansy took Mr. 
Walker‘s arm. Flo was mistified; her vision blur- 
red ; what did it signify? Was he a relative, or 
was it all because he was engaged to Pansy? If he 
was engaged to Pansy, why did he not make her a 
visit during his summer vacation? And if a rela- 
tive, why did he not pay his respects to Mrs. Par- 
fon during her yearns illness? ^ ‘There must be 
something that dates back.’ thought Flo. 

After the funeral Eben Walker remained a few 
days, much of the time he spent with Mr. Parson, 
in his oflice room, looking over account-books and 
papers, and conversing in low tones. 

Mr. Walker had but little to say to either Pan- 
sy or Flo, though Pansy did her utmost to claim 
his attention. When he took liis leave he shook 


24 


hands with botli girls, expressing a desire to be 
the best of friends. 

Pansy wept wlieii lie went away. Flo looked at 
her with c()iiteiii[)b on her countenance. Pansy 
whined out twixt sobs, ^‘If you had not remained 
in the room he would have kissed me good-by ;but 
as it was, he couldn’t kiss me unless, he kissed you 
too, therefore not wishing to caress you, he could 
not me. I think you might have known enough to 
have taken yourself off, when I had informed you, 
long ago, that we were engaged.’ 

‘‘Poor Soul! true he may be engaged, but not to 
you. If he cares a fig for you he don‘t make it 
manifest, by outward appearances anyway.” re- 
torted Flo, for once letting her temper get the 
better of her judgement. 

“You are jealous, that is what you are. O! it 
is terrible to have a jealous sister. I‘ll tell fath- 
er, I shall not stay here to be abused by you.’ de- 
clared Pansy with eyes glowing, and a red spot on 
either cheek. But she did not carry outlier threat, 
and why she did not Flo never learned, but thought 
it might be because she did not wish Mr. Parson 
to know of their engagement, if one existed. 

Unhappy were the days that followed for both 
the girls. Mr. Parson shut himself up, most of 
the time, in his business room. When he appear- 
ed in the sitting-room or the dinning-room he was 
morose and sullen, especially to Flo he was bitter; 
as she remained silent, while Pansy, in her sweet 
affected way, would endeavor to say consoling 
things to him, and even put her arms about his 
neck and kissed him. “Very well, daughter, that 
will do now, I‘m in no mood for petting. Children, 
my life is a horror to me. Oh! girls, girls, I beg 
of you to keep your records clean.’ said Mr. Parson, 
and he arose and went to his office room. 

“Yes, hell was begun on earth, soliloquised he, 
25 


‘‘The god of gold and lust tempted me, and I fell 
a willing prey to satan’s deadly power. I won the 
where-with I strove for, crushing another‘s heart 
and wrecking a life. O ! if I could undo. O! if 
this were but a dream, and I was an innocent boy 
again, kneeling at my mother’s knee. O! what 
bliss, even our poverty was, then. Guilless was I, 
the Angels smiled on me then. The devil grins 
at me now.’ he said as he paced the floor. He 
went to the window, raised the curtains; it was at 
the twiliglit hour. Vesper bells were ringing in 
the Catholic church. The evening star had risen 
dimly in the semi-after glow lent by the deiDarted 
sun. A rustle in the leaves beneath the window 
attracted his attention. He threw up his hands. 

“My God!” ejaculated he, “That is Phil; he has 
found me ; he will replenish the fires of Hell a- 
round me, O ! if tliere was such a thing as a mer- 
iful God.’ 

“There be, massa,’ asserted Dorcas, on entering 
the room, as Mr. Parson dropped upon the sofa. 

“What do you know about it?” queried he pet- 
tishly, “God may forgive a woman with a black 
skin, l3ut not a beast with a black heart as mine. 
Now, Dorcas, you know all. Keep a closed mouth 
until I am gone. It will be time enough then for 
them to know the smutty truth. O! let the girls 
respect me, also their mother‘s memory, wliile I 
live. To be cursed after I‘ni six foot under ground 
will be bad enough.’ 

“But, Massa, ‘he that confessetli and forsaketh 
shall have mercy.’ Christ has died for to redeem 
us from our sins. ‘He lias borne our transgressions. 
Through His stripes we are healed.” said Dorcas. 

“Oh! oh! oh! I feel terrible. Send for Ebb at 
once.’ groaned Mr. Parson. 

Eben Walker was sent for, but when he arrived 
Mr. Parson was unconscious. Brain-fever had set 
26 


ill. For two weeks his life hung on a thread which 
might 1)0 snapped at any moment, but to the sur- 
prise of all he began slowly to recover physically, 
but his mind was a wreck. 

“He may live,’ the Dr. said, “for some time, 
but he will never entirely regain his faculties.’ 

Mr. Walker did not return to college; nor would 
he, he declared, while Mr. Parson survived, for 
some one must care for him, therefore he would 
devote himself to the task. 

Pansy was delighted, meaning to improve each 
opportunity to secure him as her own. 

Chapter VIII. 

FLO '8 UNKNOWN RESOUREK. 

t^Because I cannot flatter and look fair, 

Smile in men’s faces smooth, and look coy.’ 

Two years ; what a change in the looks of Eben 
Walker. His gaunt farm of here-to-fore was now 
well developed ; his mouth was screened by a dark, 
silken moustache ; his dark curls crowned his 
head, forming a marked contrast to his high mar- 
ble brow; liis eyes — brown and penetrating, look- 
ed almost black now. 

“Oh!” mused Flo, “he has not lived on a crust 
in a garret the past year. No doubt* father fur- 
nished a part of the money for his College expen- 
ses. He could never have saved sufficient in teach- 
ing school one year to bear his expenses and pur- 
chase such fine clothes.. 

At first Mr. Walker paid no more attention to 
Pansy than to Flo, but Flo held herself a loti from 
him, while Pansy improved every opportunity to 
render herself agreeable to him. Pansy was very 
pretty, she had not grovn any the past two years. 
Flo,onthe other hand, had grown some three inches 
in height, and some fifty pounds in weight. The 

27 


two girls did not resemble each other as much as 
when first they met. 

Six months passed. Pleasant ones to Pansy, 
quite the opposite to Flo. Ebb had grown weary 
of liis vigil. Home-bound with so little amuse- 
ment, was very trying, especially to an ambitious 
young man whose aspirations were high. Besure 
he had his books, and spent some of Mr. Parson’s 
sleeping hours in hard study, hoping sometime to 
graduate from the M. D. college. 

As Pansy was always cheerful and loved music 
and song, and as it was soothing to Mr. Parson 
when indulging in a bad spell. Like King Saul 
of old, music seemed to chase the imps of mad- 
ness away, leaving him calmer. Hence Mr. Wal- 
ker spent much time with Pansy, as she seemed 
to have time to spare ; while Flo was not often to 
be seen, even then she was not communicative. 

Pansy Avas not content alone to enjoy Mr. Wal- 
ker’s society, but she also delighted in harrassing 
Flo, torturing her with hints, and hints of her own 
inventions. 

‘‘Ah ! Flo,’ said she, “Ebb is so dear to me. But 
somehow he can never forgive you, tliough he says 
he strives too, for making that horrid caricature 
of him. He is of very deep feeling. Before that 
he says he did not know Avhich of us lie loved best. 
You AAdbli your serious sweetness and pensive eyes, 
or ME gay and talkative. But he has entertained 
no doubts along that line since. We shall marry 
as soon as father goes to his reAvard. He AA^ont tell 
me in Avhat AA^ay he is connected to the family, but 
assures me there is nothing to impede our union.’ 

Flo AA^ould steal away to her room and have a cry 
after each cruel thrust. 

One day, after the music had ceased, the door 
being open, Flo looked in. One glance inspired 
her Avith evil; there lie Mr. Parson asleep on the 

28 


couch, and on a divan sat Eben with Pansy on his 
knee, her arm about his neck. The dames of hell 
leaped and broke forth in Flo‘s soul. 

‘'Oh! the she devU! I'll kill her. She has stol- 
en him from me. I'll poison her. There is the 
poison father got to exterminate rats, and there 
are two pieces of cake tliat Pansy said I should 
leave for her lunch. I'll fix it, so help me, oh dev- 
il, to do it. 

Flo got the poison and the cake, and standing 
in the pantry with her back to the door, she tremb- 
lingly turned the cake over. Something seemed 
to say "Don't do it Flo, God sees you.’ She drop- 
ped the bottle on the plate. "Oh! God,’ she mur- 
mured low, "help me resist, and bend to thy will.’ 
A hand was placed on her shoulder, she turned 
suddenly around, Eben confronted her. 

"What are you doing, Flo?’ he queried with 
ashen lips, on perceiving the bottle of poison. 

"I was going to poison Pansy, but God helped me 
to over come the devil.' she replied. 

"Why do you wish to kill her?’ he asked. 

"Because you love her, and I love you.’ said 
Flo. 

He placed the phial of poison in his vest pocket, 
clasped both her icy hands in his, and looked her 
ghostlike, in the eye for a few seconds, then gasp- 
ed. 

"Oh! Flo, this is more than I can bear. Would 
you. Gain like, slay your sister.?’ 

"I can’t help it, I madly love you, and I do so 
hate her. Why does God, if there be a loving 
Father, let sucli things occur?’ cried Flo in a pain- 
ed voice. . 

"Resist the devil and he will flee from you,’ re- 
peated Mr. Walker, tlien added, "It is only from 
our own passions that we are led astray. Now, 
poor deluded child, promise me, that with God’s 
29 


help, this shall be your last attempt to murder. 
Bear in mind ‘Vengeance is mine and I will repay 
it, saith the Lord.’ Therefore seek not to destroy 
life, which you can never give. I have made Mr. 
Parson a promise that I will not disclose a secret 
concerning us (which he has revealed to me) while 
he lives. The physician asserts that he cannot 
long survive, and then I shall make matters plain 
to you. Will you. Flora dear, wait? Trust God 
and be considerate. Kegarding your sister, it is 
my Avish that you should be friends; the enmity 
between you is heart-rending to me. Come, Flo, 
promise, to please me.’ 

He bent and kissed her marble broAv reverently. 
A light broke over her ghastly face, color Hushed 
her cheeks. It was like the sun shining through a 
rift in a cloud on a stormy day — all nature smiling 
back a glad halo. 

“Do you promise me, Flo?’ he plead again. 

“I promise, for your sake, that I aauII do her no 
harm, so help me God.’ replied Flo in a sepulchral 
voice. 

“Thank you, dear.’ he said, a smile lighting his 
face. He stooped and kissed her, then turned and 
re-entered the sitting room. 

Flo stood as he had left her, for some time. One 
might have taken her for a bit of statuary. Some- 
how happiness had stolen into her heart for the 
moment ; like one lost on the plains of a dark night 
on perceiving a light not far distant. But that 
which illumined her soul (a love-light) all too soon 
went out leaving her in total darkness. Such a 
terrible feeling enveloped her being, as one might 
feel after catching a gleam of light in u dark soli- 
tary place, and after following it in the vain en- 
deavor to overtake it, suddenly to have it exting- 
uished. O, the disappointment! to haA^e hope for 
even a short period of time, and then to have it, 
30 


all at once, vanish. Truly the last state of her 
feelings were more disheartening than the first. 
On hearing Pansy’s merry laugh, she was brought 
back to her senses. She fully realized the true state 
of affairs. 

In heart, and almost in deed, she was a murd- 
eress, and Eben Walker knew it; and this was not 
all, God knew it, and was it not an unpardonable 
sin? How could she ever face Eben Walker again? 
She still stood meditating; the clock struck six. 
Dorcas was preparing tea; she could hear her sing- 
ing, 

“In the cross, in the sross 
Be my glory ever.” 

“Glory in a cross?, so]ih)quized Flo, some may, 
but not a murderess. I must — I will get away 
from this.’ 

“O! had I a pair of wings, 

I’d fly, and make a long remove 
From all these restless things.” 

“Wings, or no wings, ITI fly out of this. If God 
wont help me, the devil will.’ said Flo half aloud, 
then she stepped out on the back veranda, noise- 
lessly she descended the steps. A light breeze 
was ))earing the one-winged maple leaves hither 
and tliither. A cloud hid the crescent moon ; here 
and [here in the canopy, the stars twinkled through 
spaces of tlie hurrying clouds. This slie took in at 
a glance as she liurried down the alley toward the 
lake; on, on, on slie sped toward the lake; 
she climbed a hill, then walked down to a 
lodge, on the other side, that overhung tlie lake. 
On the ledge she paused; she thought she heard a 
footfall; she listened, all was quiet except the slow 
break of the waves against tlie rock beneath. “It 
must have been the beating of my heart.’ she said 
aloud. The moon peeked out from behind the 
cloud, for clouds however large and black, are not 
stationary, hence only for a spell can conceal itlie 


moon; sooner or later its silver light must be un- 
vailed. 

“Oh! moon,” she cried, wringing her hands in 
anguish, as she dropped her gaze from the sky to 
the slow moving waters below, “Thou art my wit- 
ness as thou hast been to a multitude of maidens 
who, with broken hearts, have looked to thee. 
When my body lies cold ’neath these Avaters, each 
wave reflecting thy light, you Avill smile on just 
the same. Cold thou art as men’s liearts ; after 
winning with smiles and tender words, they throAV 
them aside, as broken toys, on meeting a more 
winsome face. And many men after taking their 
marriage vows are no less fickle.’ 

“Oh! God, I cannot look to Thee for mercy,” 
continued Flo, “I am unworthy. Oh ! Avatershide 
me from the face of the Omnipotent,’ She closed 
her eyes and prepared to leap ; an arm was thrown 
about her, and she was held in a grip like a vice. 

“Daughter, daughter, see that thou do it not. 
No, thou shalt not. You are my child. Oome with 
me. I might curse Parson, but I forgive him as 
God forgives me. And I do, this moment, glorify 
Him for giving back to me my youngest born.’ 
said a stranger ‘s voice in her ear. 

Chapter IX. 

THE REVELATION. 

'‘.List! I will tell you a story, 

A story both strange and true ; 

Though the world at present be dark, 

The future hath joys for you.” 

Flo stood like one in a dream, she neither spoke 
nor was she frightened. His soft words fell on her 
ear soothingly, like a mother’s lullaby on a weary 
child. 

“Oome with me,” he said, “I have a home now., 
thank God. After all my sleepless nights, my 
32 


Patent has proved to be a success. No one shall 
part us again.’ 

He led the way, firmly clasping her hand in his. 
She obeyed as if entranced. On, on they walked. 
At length they came to a line dwelling near the 
city limits; a lawn with well-clipped grass, and 
shrubbery surrounded the house on all sides; large 
maples dropped their crimson leaves on their heads 
as they passed by them. 

“Welcome home,'daughter,’ he said as he led her 
into a well furnished room flooded with light. She 
turned her astonished gaze on him. He was tall 
and erect, with broad forehead and white hair and 
beard. A smile lit his face as he beheld her puz- 
zled look. 

“Have you ever met me before?’ he asked. 

“No, I have not.’ she replied, adding, “How is 
it that you call me daughter? My name is Flora 
Parson.’ 

“No, it is not. Your name is Flora Perry,’ said 
he, “After tea I will relate to you your early his- 
tory. You may, in some respects, blame me, yet 
1 feel that you will pity me, as I liave you since I 
found you. I was awaiting an opportunity to make 
myself known to you. Oome, Flora, let me show 
you the room I have prepared for you.’ 

Still like one in a dream she followed where he 
led. Good effects may spring from words of love. 
He ushered her into a large room furnished more 
elegantly than lier room in the Parson home. He 
left her saying 

“Tea will be ready in fifteen minutes.’ 

“How strange.’ slie mused as she began to rea- 
lize the turn events had taken, “instead of lying 
cold and lifeless at the lake‘s bottom, my sinful spirit 
roving through space nevermore to find rest, for can 
there be any place for a suidice?’ she asked of her- 
self as she called to mind her idea, when a child, 
33 


that clouds never rested, that they were rejected 
spirts whom God had turned away from tlie Gate 
of Pearl, and condemned to roam ever more as 
driven clouds in earth‘s canopy. am here in a 
fine room, lighted and warmed, with an elderly 
gentleman (yes, no doubt a gentleman by birth, 
for breed will tell.) calling me daughter. Of course 
lie must be mistaken, or insane; yet he seems ra- 
tional, and it is so good to be loved.’ It now real- 
ly appeared to her that she had never known true 
love. Her parents had never bestowed that which 
she most desired, love, on her, although money was 
spent lavishly on her. 

‘"Yes,” she mused, “I will let tliis gentleman 
call me daughter for tonight, for I cannot, no, will 
not return to the Parson home, — and I liave lost 
all desire to drown myself.’ 

As she hastily made her toilet slie decided to go 
away on the morrow and seek employment. The 
dining-room Avas gorgeous, such as she had never 
before beheld, but had read a description of in 
novels. Only the gentleman and herself at the 
table, and a colored servant; the tea, or dinner, as 
he called it, was served in five courses, and de- 
spite her intentions not to do so, she ate heartily. 
He conversed with her on the various topics of the 
day, not at all like an insane man. After the re- 
past was over he led her to an elegantly furnished 
parlor, which astoniseed her still more. She had 
no idea that such grandeur existed in their small 
city, though she had passed, time and again, the 
large white brick house, someAvhat "plain oh the 
exterior, set back in the well-kept lawn. 

“Now, my dear child, are you not ready for your 
former history? or I might rightly call it your pre- 
history,’ said Mr. Perry in a tender composed tone 
as he seated her in a morris chair, taking an easy 
rocker beside her; he then added, “I feel sure of 
34 


your sympathy. You are a real Perry. My Flora, 
you were named for my modier; your eyes are 
similar to hers, and you liave a heart. Pansy is 
soulless, like her motlier. Primrose Parson. Yes, 
my wife was cruel, slie loved money and what it 
would purchase, hence our lives were both wreck- 
ed. You wonder, cliild, but for the past year I 
liave been a close observer of much that has trans- 
pired about your home; and wliat I have not seen 
with my own eyes. Old Mammy Dorcas has kept 
me posted on.’ 

‘‘You probably do not recognize me with this 
Avhite beard, and no green glasses on, as Dr. Ham- 
esly, who iigured as you mother^s physician.’ 

Flo gave him a glance of surprise. He contin- 
ued’ ‘'Nor did your mother recognize me until one 
day when we were alone, ami 1 asked her if you 
vere my child. She assured me that you were my 
child, and not Parson’s. She had not been untrue 
to me she said. Well, my dear child, there has 
been one beside God and Dorcas, that has pitied 
you. You shall be my heir. Now I've puzzled you 
long enough. Let me take you back twenty-eight 
years, to England where Pliilip Perry, that is my- 
self, second son of Warren Perry, a man of means, 
Avith Lord for title.’ 

“I was married to Primrose PaAVson, the hand- 
some daughter of a ])liysician. My fatlier gave me 
a large sum of money, and 1 sailed, with my bride, 
to America. Peler Parson, the son of my father's 
hostler, came with us as our servant, leaving his 
sweetheart behind him, whom he stated he Avould 
send for later. Ah ! the shameless scamp, he did not 
send for her; but a few months later she died in 
child-birth by him. She was a tine young lady, a 
musician, an orphaned cared for by an aunt. The 
child is none other than Eben Walker.’ 

35 


Flo held her breath and placed her hand on her 
head to see if it was there. Was she dreaming? 
Without comment Mr. Perry continued, 

‘‘At the girl‘s death, this aunt wrote me of the 
child that was left, and that she, Ruth Walker, 
wished me to take the child, as she was to infirm 
to care for it. She wrote that she would send it 
over the sea in charge of a family that was com- 
ing.’ 

“Meantime I had purchased a tract of land; up- 
on which in a few years, a city sprang up. I paid 
Peter Parson in land for his work for me, and he 
erected the first saloon in the city. I was careless 
of money. I practiced medicine some, for charity’s 
sake more than anything else.’ 

“My wife was a fashionable woman, while I cared 
nothing for shallow society, hence as Peter board- 
ed with us he took my wife to various entertain- 
ments. I Avas often away visiting my patients, 
and I suspected nothing, supposing people would 
understand that he was only playing the role as my 
servant, which I lavishly paid him for. 

Well, the child arrived but Peter disowned it, 
so I paid for its keep by the family that had brought 
it from England. Finally they moved west, where 
land Avas cheaper, taking the child A\dth them. 
Pansy was born to us a feAV years after our arrival 
in America, and you three years later. Before 
your birth, I ahvays being used to Avine and not 
the poor liquor of this country, I drank more free- 
ly as Peter urged me too, at his bar. He mixed 
the drinks I think, for they made me drunk, and 
I unintentionaly became a sot. I often took a 
drink to buoy me up after being out a night Avith 
the sick. I had no care for money so spent it free- 
ly, and Avhen you Avere but six months old I learn- 
ed to my horror, that I was penniless. And Avorse 
yet, my wife declared that she loved Peter, not 


me. Well I got on a drunk, and later learned that 
I had struck my wife., 

“When I regained consciousness (after my drunk) 
I was in prison, and she had sued for a divorce, 
and later secured one. And when my time of pris- 
on servitude was completed, she was married to 
Peter Parson, who had, in one way or another, got 
my property, wife, children, and all, from me. I 
stole Pansy and left the country, I fell ill, and 
being without money or friends, and with no hopes 
of recovery gave Pansy to Dr. Pratt. He moved 
away so I lost sight of her until I came to this vil- 
lage two years ago. 

O ! what I have suffered, robbed of px’operty, 
wife, and children, and too proud to write of my 
adversity to relatives in England. For some years 
my health was to poor to practice medicine, be- 
sides I had lost my papers. I have been a teetot- 
lar since my term in prison. There was not much 
I could do being bred a gentleman. I actually 
worked in the capacity of hod-carrier to keep from 
starving. Later a kindly gentleman, believing 
such parts of my lifers history as I saw fit to tell 
him, found me a place in a drug store, where lat- 
er I passed an examination as M. D. and have prac- 
ticed medicine since. But my great work has been 
an invention which I now have a patent on, and 
am wealthy again. I had no idea where the Par- 
sons had gone to, as they left no trace behind 
them. My making myself known to your moth- 
er shortened her life though she did not repent of 
her act. Yes, she died at she lived, heartless, yet 
I believe her word that you are my child, as she 
certified, for she had no reason to deceive me, it 
could in no wise benefit her; besides you are like 
my family. 

“Now go to your room, darling,’ he said, kiss- 
ing her, “and sleep well tonight; and I will go 

OW*?}.---!. «7 


and inform the Parsons where yon are, for there 
will be an outcry regarding your absence, and Eb- 
en Walker will be upset.’ 


Chapter X 
THE TRAGEDY. 

“That which seems to be, is not, 

That which is, is not yet known; 

Ill-gotten gains are dearly bought. 

Retribution soon will come.” 

Dr. Perry hastened to tlie Parson home. He was 
admitted without ceremony, having for sometime 
been assistant physiciaii for Mrs. Parson, known 
as Dr. Hamesly. None recognized him, (not even 
Mr. Parson) except Dorcas, with whom he had had 
several private talks during Mrs. Parson‘s illness. 
Mrs. Parson had not revealed his identity to her 
husband. 

'‘Hello! Doc.’ called out Mr. Parson with a sim- 
ple laugh. “Come to see me? Ah! well, you did 
not cure my wife, and I guess you can’t cure me 
either.’ 

Dr. Perry looked at him fiercely, then doffed his 
green glasses, saying, as he looked at him keenly, 

“There now, you Avhelp of a Parson, do you rec- 
ognize Phil Perry? He whom you robbed of his 
property, wife and cliildren. You imp of Hades.’ 

“Oh, my God!’ cried Parson throwing up his 
hands, “It is Pliil Perry whom I have wrecked, 
soul and body. Oh, protect me from the spirit; 
he has come back from liell, where I sent him, to 
torment me before 1 am dead.’ 

He rolled up his eyes and after a few gasps he 
was gone; yes gone to his reward. 

“May God have mercy on liis soul.’ said Dr. 
Perry with a pained look on his face. Eben Wal- 


ker, who had been a silent witness, found his 
tongue and asked, 

“What means this?’ 

Dr. Perry, as he bent over the dead man said, 

“Simply this, I am the father of Pansy and Flora 
and their mother was my lawful wife. He got me 
crazy drunk with his mixed drinks, had me sent 
to prison, and after securing a divorce for her, 
married my wife. I stole Pansy and Dr. Pratt a- 
dopted her when I was ill, and left me alone. But 
at last I’ve traced them, and now Flora is under 
my roof, liave you missed her?’ asked Dr. Perry. 

“Yes,” said Pansy, “but thought she had gone 
to make calls. She is of sucli a sullen disposition 
she goes off without informing us of lier where- 
abouts.’ 

“We sliall talk these matters over later,’ said 
Dr. Perry, and then added “An inquest must be 
held. I suppose I ought to liave been more cau- 
tious in making myself known, as he had heart- 
failure.” 

The sudden deatli of Mr. Parson, the inquest; 
and Hamesly alias Perry, turning out to be the 
father of Pansy an Flo, was a nine day wonder, 
and much talk ensued. 

As it was the desire of Eben Walker and Pansy 
to have Flo come home and remain until after the 
funeral, she did so, and he remained with them. 

A private interview took place between Dr. Per- 
ry and Eben Walker, and Eben learned much 
more than Peter Parson had informed him of. Par- 
son had led him to believe tliat Eben was a legi- 
timate son of his by a former marriage. And that 
Mrs. Perry was a widow, and tliat Pansy was lier 
daughter liy a former husband. And Flora was 
born unto them after they had been married a year, 
instead of Flora being a year old when they were 
united. 


39 


On learning that Flora was Dr. Perry‘s child 
Ebeii Walker lost no time in seeking her and pro- 
posing to her, “Flo, dear,’ said he, “I have never 
been engaged to Pansy, nor never cared for her. 
She has repeatedly sat down on my knee when 
she thought you might see lier. I would have made 
known my love for you long ago, but I supposed 
you were my half-sister. And, too, I had prom- 
ised, that while Mr. Parson lived, I would not re- 
veal the secret of mj^ birtli. And, O! the pain 
you caused me, Flo,’ continued he, “when you 
said that ‘you loved me, and liated Pansy because 
I loved her,’ but I could not then tell you the 
truth. 

“But but you cannot love me now, knowing 

full well that murder was in my heart although 
God and you prevented me from committing the 
deed,’ said Flo’ “And, too,’ continued she, “I 
was going to commit suicide, but God sent my 
own father to intercept and save me from such a 
fate. 

“God is good, my dear, He forgives, and so do 
I,, said Mr. Walker. “Now,” urged he, “say you 
will be mine and we will go and ask your father ‘s 
blessing.’ 

“Yes,” she replied in a solemn voice; for are 
not such vows actually solemn compacts? 

Eben led her to the parlor where Dr. Perry and 
Pansy sat conversing. Dr. Perry smiled a sad, 
sweet smile, as Eben informed him of their en- 
gagement, and rising blessed them. 

Pansy tried to smile, but the green shown in her 
eyes, and her lips curled in revenge, which ren- 
dered her face demoii-like; yet she arose and kiss- 
ed them both, Judas-like, saying — 

“I shall be so pleased to have Mr. Walker for a 
brother, ’ 

Flora recoiled from her touch as if an adder had 

40 


stung her, butMr. Walker smiled a victorious smile 
and returned her kiss saying, “I trust wejshall be 
the best of friends now, little sister.’ 

‘‘Indeed we shall be very dear to each other, 
brother Ebb.’ she said fondly, adding, “I will now 
go to prepare tea. Poor Dorcas is feeling quite 
ill ; she is getting old ; she has not sung a couplet 
of any hymn for several days.’ so saying she left 
the room. In less than a hour she summoned them 
to tea. 

“I did it all myself,’ she said, placing a gilt- 
edged china cup and saucer, embossed with pink 
flowers on the exterior, beside Flo’s plate; and be- 
side her own, the same, embossed with blue flow- 
ers. After sitting at the table until grace was 
said, she arose saying 

“I‘ve forgotten the sugar.’ 

As she left the room. Ebb, for a lark, exchang- 
ed the girls’ cups, but not the saucers, placing the 
blue cup in the pink saucer, and the pink cup in 
the blue saucer,thinking to have a laugh on Pansy, 
which he did after she drank her cocoa. 

“Well, well, sister, you have not discovered 
your mistake, have you? Guess your mind has 
gone wool-gathering. See, you placed a blue cup 
in a pink saucer, and — ’ said Ebb. 

“O! my God!’ cried Pansy, “I‘ve drank the 
poison mysell. Help! help! doctor, quick. I found 
the phial on the floor in Ebb’s room, and as I hate 
Flo I put some of it in her cup, and made a mis- 
take and drank it myself, and now must die. Save 
me! 0, save me! O, my stomach! O! where is 
Dorcas? tell her to come and pray forme. 0? my 
God ! don‘t forsake me. Pray, someone pray. I 
must die. O, forgive ! Father, O ! God forgive me.’ 

“Prayer is the burden of a sigh, 

The falling of a tear, 

The upward glancing of an eye 

41 


When none but God is near. 

Prayer is the simplest form of speech 
That infant lips can try, 

Prayer the sublimest strains that reach 
The majesty on high.” 

A silent prayer arose to God from eacdi heart 
present, while each left no time in seeking reme- 
dies to save her life if possible. Even old Dorcas 
arose from her sick bed and performed her part, 
murmuring a prayer the while. 

All night they worked over lier; convulsion fol- 
lowed convulsion; slie was conscious by spells; her 
repentance was deep, and no douljt sincere. She 
wept and begged their forgiveness, saying lierlove 
for Eben was madness; that she loved liim because 
Flo did; that she had been envious since first they 
met. Whatever her sister liked, slie wanted, un- 
til envy turn to hate, and hate took the form of 
murder in her heart. 

Flora fell on the couch, entwined her arm about 
Pansy’s neck, and kissing lier sobbed out, “That 
is just the way I felt toward you. O! forgive me. 
Pansy. Through God’s grace alone, 1 did not mur- 
der you.’ 

Pansy’s face was illumined by an unseen light, 
reficted from the lights beyond our vision. 

“I forgive and am forgiven. I can now die in 
peace.’ whispered Pansy, “God will have mercy 
and receive my spirit.’ 

Her beautiful brown eyes, glassy Avith the su- 
pernatural gloAv of death, looked l^eyond as if be- 
holding sometliing iiiAdsilde to mortal vision. She 
died Avithout another struggle. 

Those that stood around lier couch Avept real tears 
feeling as if they Avere in tlie august presence of 
the Almighty, and being Aveiglied in the balance by 
Him, were found Avanting. 


42 


Chapter XI 
CONCLUSION. 

‘‘All is well that ends well.’ 

Pansy’s funeral was an impressive one; it was 
preached by a hoary-headed clergyman who had 
known sorrow. “Love” was his theme. He strove 
to classify the different significations of the im- 
mensity of Love in various degrees. 

Love, the greatest and best thing on earth or in 
heaven ; also the worst thing on earth or in hell ; 
for LOVE is heaven or hell in the heart according 
to circumstances.’ 

His theme brought his audience to tears. It al- 
so at its close, raised their minds to that God who 
ruled the world. Though satan breaks many hearts 
here, yet God is supreme, and master at the ter- 
minus. Pansy ‘s remains were placed beside her 
mother ‘s in the family lot. Flora was a real mourn- 
er. 

In less than a month old Dorcas, full of years, 
expired while singing 

“Were all the realm of nature mine, 

That were a present far too small 
Love so amazing, so divine. 

Demands my soul, my life, my all.” 

These lines reminded Flora of the Autumn 
morn of three years previous, when a happy school 
girl, and she broke down and wept as the spirit of 
dear old Dorcas (the only mother she had ever 
known) was borne by the angels of light to the 
God who gave it. A white soul that had dwelt 
for 80 years in a black temple found that rest that 
remaineth for the cliildren of the King. 

Flora insisted that the remains of old Dorcas 
should be interred in the family plot, for had she 
not been faithful to the family for more than a 
quarter of a century? 

It was Eben Walker’s wish that Flora and him- 
43 


self be married at once, but Dr. Perry thought it 
not best. Therefore Ebeu returned to his studies 
at the M. D. college, and Dr. Perry and Flora 
crosssed the sea to the Orient, and spent two years 
in traveling. Meantime Eben Walker completed 
his medical course, and on tiieir return they found 
him a full-fledged Doctor. 

A quiet wedding followed and Mr. and Mrs. 
Walker, accompanied by Dr. Perry, went to Cali- 
fornia to make their home. 

Dr. Eben Walker not satisfied to be only a phy- 
sician, took a Theological course, while his Flo 
took up a course of studies. In due time each fin- 
ished their course, and then Dr. Walker accepted 
a position as president of a western college, which 
position he still retains, not because his earning a 
livlihood demands it, as money is no longer a con- 
sideration with them, her father. Dr. Perry, hav- 
ing passed away, and left them a fortune, which 
accumulated through his patents. But having a 
desire to be of some use to the world, he still 
works. 

As for Mrs. Walker, she is no idler, for there are 
seven pairs of brown and blue eyes in their house- 
hold, all belonging to the rising generation of 
Walkers. 

“No race suicide here,” laughingly certifies Dr. 
Walker. 

Ebb and Flo realize that to be happy one must 
be useful. 



44 


RAISING THE DEAD. 

And for sure did the spirits raise the table and 
knock when you asked questions? asked little Lu- 
cy of her brother just home from college. Yes, 
indeed, replied he. We, by placing our hands on 
a table made it dance and respond to our questions* 
Suppose, said the inquisitive child (who was ever 
desirous to put all tiieories to a test,) we could 
make something dance, as she looked about the 
wood shed for some object to experiment on. 

But it is Sunday said Fred. Well what of that? 
retorted Lucy laughing, pa danced last Sunday. 
Now Lucy, said Fred, pa does not believe in danc- 
ing any day, let alone on the Sabbath. But he did 
all the same. Ma said he danced in “spite of faith” 
Pa was washing his feet and the stove handle be- 
ing hot Bridget flung it on the floor and pa step- 
ped on it and danced he did and sang too. He said 
Hal-le-lujah in highO. Bridget said he forgot to put 
glory on it. Fred well knowing Lucy would not be 
contented ‘till something danced, seeing an emp- 
ty barrel lying on its side and something near it, 
the spirit of mischief entered his cranium. He 
turned the barrel carefully bottom side up, and 
said‘ here Lucy, we will try this barrel. Place 
you hands on top and do not let your waist or cloth- 
ing come in contact with the barrel. Place your 
finger tips to mine, do not speak above a whisper. 
What is that for? she asked. Electricity, answer- 
ed he. Is electricity spirits? asked she, and is that 
what makes the “motor car” go? What does spirits 
look like? she still questioned. They are invisi- 
45 


ble transparent, you cannot see them. Yon re- 
member ^‘Marley‘s gliost in the “Christmas Car- 
ols” how he was so transparent he could see 
through him the buttons on the back of his coat, 
said Fred. And shall we see their buttons? quer- 
ied Lucy in open mouth wonder. No, said he, the 
ghost will have to stay under the barrel to make 
it dance. At this juncture Bridget entered from 
the kitchen enroute for out door with a pail of slop 
and a pail of ashes. “Faith, and what are you 
doing?” queried Bridget. Kaising the dead, said 
Lucy, innocently. “Kaising the dead” are ye? 
said Bridget, with a genial smile. Yes, said Fred, 
have you any departed friends you would like to 
communicate with? Yes, indeed, replied Bridget, 
my dear old grandmother Bridget Malone. Well 
then, said Fred, place your hands on here beside of 
ours. She sat down her pails and done as request- 
ed. Fred then cried in an unearthly voice. “I 
say unto you Mrs. Bridget Malone, raise this bar- 
rel and — ” at this juncture Fred gave the barrel 
a vigorous kick by way of emphasis. There was a 
hideous sound, a tluttering of wings and knocking 
in the sides and toi^ of the barrel. Lucy screamed 
and jumping backwards, sat down in tlie pail of 
slop. 

Bridget cried “holy mithers” andlurched side- 
ways, planting her well shod foot on Fred's thin 
slippered one which possessed a good crop of corns, 
he gave a war whoop and gave Bridget a vigorous 
push which sent her reeling out the door accom- 
panied by the pai1 of ashes which chanced to be in 
her wake. Fred’s father now appeared on the 
scene as Bridget stood sliaking olf tlie ashes like a 
hen that had indulged in a dust l)ath. 

What does this mean? demanded lie. 

“Hiven help us” replied Bridget, Mister Fred 
he be raising the dead.” Kaising the D — 1 1 should 
46 


say, said Mr. Ross as he entered the wood shed 
and took in the scene. Lucy stood dripping and 
crying and Fred sat on a basket filled with corn- 
cobs nursing his bare foot crying and laughing 
both. Ashes and slop mingled, decorated the floor. 
On hearing the noise in the barrel. Mr. Ross said, 
what is in here? Tipping it over, a hen flew out 
coming in contact with Bridget as she was reen- 
tering the wood shed ; she again collapsed. Mrs. 
Ross on hearing the racket, now appeared. “Bless 
me,” said she, holding up her hands, what is the 
matter? 

“Matter enougli I should say,” he retorted. Your 
city gentleman has been initiating Bridget and 
Lucy into spiritualism. 

See what the spirits have done, said Mr. Ross 
breaking forth into a laugh. Mother please get 
me the camphor bottle, said Fred, my corns pain 
me so. The camphor was forthcoming and as his 
mother bathed his foot with the spirits his father 
asked, “What did you put the hen in that barrel 
for? O? replied Fred, she was sitting on her nest 
and I just turned the barrel over her. If she must 
carry on her business on Sunday she should do it 
behind closed doors the same as saloon keepers do 
in the city. Now Lucy who had never been known 
to be silent so long, said in her innocent way, so 
“invisible transparent” means spirits and spirits 
is electricity, and electricity is hens, so hens must 
make the car go, but 1 did not see them do it when 
I was in the city. I don‘t understand Fred. 

Mr. Ross chuckeled as he remarked, “No. fl 
shoes and No. 10 hats” breed corns and spirits. 

I admit father, I have corns on my feet and 
spirit of camphor yet neither on my head. 

But, said liis father, you have enough invisible 
transparence there to make up for the lack of other 
enlarging elements. 


47 


THE STUDENTS’ LARK. 

An April Fool Story. 

“Hello! Frank, Wait a moment,” said Fred, as 
he, running, came up and walked along beside his 
friend and classmate. “Well, old chap, what is 
it? What has your rattle-trap brain conceived now?’ 
queried Frank. “Well, you are aware that all 
fool‘s day will soon be here, and one fellow at least, 
must receive a dose of our concoction. And that 
fellow must be Tim Oonlyn. He is so stuck up 
since his father was elected Probate Judge that he 
hardly sees the ground at all.” said Fred. 

“Well, then, supposing he deserves taking down a 
peg or two, what do you propose to do?” asked 
Frank. 

“You are aware that I can imitate Tim’s hand- 
writing to perfection, and iVe conceived an idea 
that it would be one of the best jokes of the sea- 
son to write a letter to Daisy Bell, asking a cer- 
tain question, and demanding an immediate re- 
sponse, before vacation, which takes place the day 
following All FooPs Day. You know he treats her 
politely, and on several occasions has walked with 
her to the house where she rooms, though he feels 
miles and miles above her now.” said Fred. 

“I think he would be a little more than polite 
to her if she was a rich man's daughter.” retorted 
Frank. 

“Yes, she is poor, and waits on the table for her 
board, at the hotel Avhere we board ; and if she 
were a man instead of a lady, she would be hon- 
ored for her pluck in working her way through 
College,” asserted Frank. 

48 


‘Indeed she would, ’said Frank, ‘And it is a shame 
that what is respected in a chap, is not in a lady. 
Now there is Daisy, she is the prettiest, most no- 
ble looking, and the best scholar in our class. Even 
Tim has to take a second place, and I know it cuts 
Iiim to have a table-girl average higher in her ex- 
aminations than his royal self.” 

“Well, Good Night, Frank. You will hear more 
later.” said Fred. And he did. 

On the morning of the first of April, Tim Oon- 
lyn received a dainty, rose-scented letter from 
Daisy Bell, and Avas nonplussed as he read her ac- 
ceptance of his offer of marriage, and admitted 
that she cared for him, and that she had replied at 
once , as he had urged her too. 

Tim Oonlyn’s feelings can easier be imagined 
than described. At school that day he Avas deject- 
ed and reserved. That evening he AA^aited for 
Daisy and Avalked along beside her. As -the stu- 
dents had been informed of the joke, they exchang- 
ed glances, and some AAunked as Tim and Daisy left 
tlie liotel together. As they Avalked along the street 
Tim dreAV the letter from his pocket and holding 
it up, asked — 

“Did you write that letter to me. Miss Bell.” 

“Certainly I did. Why do you ask?’ she said. 

“I never AATote to you.” he retorted. 

“The letter I received Avas in your hand-AATiting. 

I‘ll shoAV it to you if you doubt me.” she said, 
much disturbed. 

“It is All-Fools’-Day, and if you AA^ere sharp you 
AA^ould have thought of it, and saved yourself the 
trouble of responding. It is a lark of some of the 
students. Besides you could not expect one in my 
pf)sition to propose to you. Why, my father is a 
judge, and my people entertain high vieAvs forme 
—along the the matrimonial line,” affirmed Tim. 

“Possible!” said she, affecting surprise, ‘'Why, 
49 


I thought you were going to say your father was a 
peanut vender.” 

He was shocked and spent a few moments in si- 
lent thought. His father in youth, when his 
people first came to this country, had been 
very poor; and his father had sold peanuts in 
the streets of Cleveland. He never supposed that 
people out west had known of the matter. When 
they got to the house where she roomed he accompa- 
nied her in, the hall being dusky, he went into her 
room to read the letter. He bit ids lips as he per- 
sued the passionate epistle, and in ids heart he 
could not blame her for acccepting tlie offer. After 
reading it he put it in his pocket and turned to go. 
She turned the key in the lock, saying, — 

“Sir, you are my prisoner until you give me 
both of those letters.” 

“We will see about that.” he said, Avitli a curl 
of the lip. Clasping both of her hands in his own, 
a tussle for the possession of the key ensued audit 
lasted without avail until both were tired out and 
seated on the sofa, he still holding lier hands. Af- 
ter a pause for resi: he concluded to try a strate- 
gem. With a mocking smile he said — 

“They usually seal engagements Avith a kiss, I 
believe.” He bent forward as if to suit his action 
to his AAmrds. She Avrenched one of lier hands from 
his grasp and gave him a stinging slap on the cheek 
that brought tears to his eyes. 

“I‘ll pay you for that. Miss,” he angrily affirm- 
ed. 

She took the key from her dress sleeve, saying 

“Here, take it and go.” 

He put the key in his pocket, and feigning a 
smile said — “I am in no particular hurry about go- 
ing; it is not often that I haA^e the pleasure of call- 
ing on young ladies. I belie A^e it is customary to 
place the engagement ring on the lady’s finger, 
50 


and I have one here that will set off your snow- 
llake hand to advantage.” Taking from his pock- 
et a large brass ring with a green glass setting he 
put it on one other fingers. 

‘‘O! how beautiful,” said she, “A family heir- 
loom, I presume. One can always tell by the fam- 
ily jeAvels what ones ancestors were. Yours were 
from the Emerald Isle. How proud you must be. 
Why our late president was of Irish descent.” 

As his face turned purple with rage, his eyes 
lit on a picture on the wall. He dropped her hand 
and sprang to his feet to view it. 

“That is Charley Bell and I taken four years a- 
go, when we were at school inOleveland.His father 
was a wealthy broker, but the last time Charley 
wrote to me, he stated that his father had lost his 
vast fortune; and his parents had both died since, 
and he and his sister were left alone in the world. 
He was about to set out for Klondyke' That was 
two years ago. I presume he is one of the many 
gold-seekers that perished there.” said Tim. On 
turning to look at her he saw tears in her eyes. 

“Why! your name is Bell, and his sister‘s name 
was Daisy, I never saw her, but he used to read her 
letters to me. You are Charley’s sister, are you 
not?” he humbly asked. 

“Yes.” she replied. 

And you recognized me from the first?” queried 
he. 

“My answer to thatFool’s letter would have been 
different if I had not.” she said coldly. 

“I beg your pardon. Miss Bell, for my hasty 
temper; it rarely gets away with my better judge- 
ment. As for Charley I owe him much ; he not 
only saved my life, but helped me otherwise. My 
father had Tiis nose on the grindstone’, being a 
j)oor lawyer for many years, but since he came 
west fortune has smiled on him. Henceforth there 
51 


will be nothing too great for me to do for you/’ 
said Tim. He then asked “Is Charley dead?” 

“I suppose so, as I have not heard from him for 
eighteen months.” said Daisy. 

Tim opened the door to go. 

“My letter, please, the one I Avrote to you.’ said 
Daisy. 

“Permit me to keep it for the time being. Trust 
me, no one shall see it.’ he replied as lie made his 
exit. 

It was the first day after vacation. Tlie students 
Avere seated at the dining table. Daisy AA^as bring- 
ing in a tray of provisions when a stranger enter- 
ed. She gave a scream, dropped the tray and fell 
into the stranger ‘s arms. 

“O laOharley.” she cried. 

Tim was soon beside them, and such rejoicing 
took place. As soon as calm Avas regained Tim in- 
trodued Daisy to her brother as his betrothed. 

Charley had sought long for his sister without 
finding her, and had quite given her up as lost to 
him ; and then learning the Avhereabouts of Tim 
Conlyn, had came to pay his respects to his old 
classmate, hence found his sister. Charley prob- 
ably will never know how the engagement came 
about, but he is well pleased iieA^ertheless. 

Daisy is Mrs. Conlyn noAV and AA^ears a ring with 
a diamond setting, yet she prizes a brass one Avith 
its green-glass setting, that is hid from sight in 
her trunk. She never refers to it to Tim. 



52 


DEAF AUNTIE. 



“So you luive concluded to canvass for your 
health, have you Myron?” 

“Yes Uncle, doctor says I must be out in the o- 
pen air as mucli as possible, office work will kill 
me shortly,” repled Myron Moody. 

“Very well, but what will you canvass for?I trust 
it will be sometljing that will do no harm,’ re- 
marked Uncle Ike. 

“Oh no, no, only hair restorative that is of a very 
pure quality; of course it wont do all it is adver- 
tised to do, yet it is better than most of the res- 
toratives on the market, and one thing is certain, 
it will do no harm.’ 

“Yes, yes Myron, I understand; now let me give 
you a few pointers on the business, for I‘ve done 
a little of that myself, and more lies in your per- 
sonal appearances, and manner of introducing 
yourself, than in their need of a hair tonic.’ de- 
clared Uncle Ike. 

“Well, teacli me Uncle,” said Myron, tossing 
his lieavy, wavy brown locks out of his eyes, smil- 
ing down on his peculiar genial Uncle. 

“Tliere, that‘s it — the way you must smile on 
the ladies, I mean, no matter what they say in 
line of abuse ; and that hair of yours, will adver- 
tise your remedy wonderful, but be sure and use 
it yourself, so you can tell them so with a clear 
conscience ; there is surely nothing like a clear 
coiiscience, to give an honest, innocent expression 
to the countenance.’ “To insure the sale of your 
restorative, you must win all, by your courtesy; 
the old ladies you must pay special attention too ; 

53 


if they are making any fancy work, or even knit- 
ting the old-fashioned sock or mitten, or making 
(*alico patch work, you must grow interested in it, 
and tell them your auntie or grandmother used to 
do such work, and he sure and Avipe away a tear, 
and you will win a heart. Speak pleasantly to the 
hired help, and to the cat or dog, even if he barks 
at you, and shows his teeth,’ asserted Uncle Ike. 

‘What of the young ladies, shall I frown on them?’ 
querired Myron with a mischevious wink. 

“No danger of you doing that, or I should have 
Avarned you. I do not fear but what the young la- 
dies Avill bask in your smiles, but it is best toAvin 
the matrons first, as they usually carry the purse,’ 
declared Uncle Ike. 

“Why did you not marry. Uncle? You seem to 
knoAV how to manage v^omen so well.’ 

Uncle Ike dreAV a long breath and looked out of 
the AA indoAV Avhile Aviping his spectacles, he put 
them on his humped nose, then took up his paper 
and attempted to read Avith it Avrong side up, then 
shooting an arroAAdike glance at his nephew, he 
said, “I came Avithin one of it, once. She got mar- 
ried, and I didn‘t. I tell you Myron, don‘t trust 
Avomen to far,. 

Bright and early the folloAving day, Myron start- 
ted out Avith a small s^alise filled AAut hair restora- 
tive bottles; they Avere fancy shaped, Avith floAV- 
ered labels, and the liquid Avas perfumed. The 
first house he came to, the door AA^as closed in his 
face. The next three he sold a bottle to each 
place ; and then for several houses, he received a 
^no sir’ from them all, although he smiled on the 
old ladies, petted the cats, and petted the dogs, 
and lavished his smiles on the girls. 

At length he espied a large fine looking resi- 
dence set back from the public liigAA'ay, and he con- 
cluded to try his luck there, so made his way to 
54 


the front door and rang the hell, 

An elderly lady answered the hell, and smiling 
graciously, inviU'd him into a well furnished par- 
lor. She gave him a restful chair, and seating 
herself near him, commenced on her silk patch 
Avork. 

“What lovely pieces’ he remarked with an ad- 
miring smile; “my grandmother used to dote on 
patch work.’ 

“My lovely nieces, you say,’ said she, a smile 
spreading over her fine face. “Yes, I understand; 
they told me a yv)ung man Avould call today to ask 
my consent. Which one of the three is your choice? 
The girls would not tell me which one of them 
had had an offer.’ 

“Gan you not hear madam?’ 

‘Oh, oh, Leah is it, well Leah is the best of the 
three. She is not quite so pretty as Kachael, nor 
as pert as Kuth, but she is just as smart, only a lit- 
tle bashful, and I tell you, she is a good house- 
keeper, and she is such a kind creature too. Why, 
when I was sick, she cared for me like a baby; she 
said she would not trust me to the care of nurses; 
they Avere too careless, and she is so thoughtful, 
every stray cat, and dog that comes along gets a 
bite. She don‘t put on as much style as the other 
girls, but I give her the same alloAvance, and she 
goes and helps the poor people; she says dresses 
gets out of style, but the poor we alwayhave Avilh 
us. Now youngman,! like your looks. Many years ago 
I was engaged to a man, that had the same honest 
eyes that you have, but my parents AAdshed me to 
marry a rich man, and so I obeyed them.’ 

Myron arose, taking from his valice a bottle of 
hair restorative. “I‘m a stranger to your nieces, 
madam. I‘m an agent for this hair tonic.’ 

“A present for me. Oh, thank you,’ she said, 
as her eyes lit AAuth pleasure, then looking at the 
55 


bottle she said, hair restorer is just what I’m 
in need of, for my hair is failing out.’ 

‘‘I am selling it madam,’ he shouted, never 
saw your nieces?’ 

“You want some of my pieces?’ she said with a 
smile that made her old face beautiful. “Well, 
I will make them into a quilt, see, I liave almost 
enough blocks now. I‘ve promised the quilt to the 
first one of the girls that get married. I give you 
my consent to marry Leah, and the quilt shall be 
yours.’ 

Myron stood nonpul sed, he took his hat. 

“Oh, must you be going, remain to dinner. The 
girls have gone for a ride in their automobile but 
they will be home to dinner.’ 

“No, thank you,’ he said. 

“When will you come again?’ she asked. 

“Oh, horror.’ he said. 

“Tomorrow,’ she said. “Very well, only I wish 
you could remain today, have you any word to 
leave to Leah?’ 

He smiled, “Yes,” he said, entering into the 
joke, “tell her I‘m mad.’ 

“Oh! that you are glad,’ she said, laughing 
sweetly, as he bowed himself out of the house. 

He hurried away as he espied an automobile 
coming down the road. “There, I am out one bot- 
tle of hair restorative, one dollar a bottle, that 
means fifty cents to me.’ 

As he neared the automobile he said to himself, 
“My those are fine looking girls, wonder which is 
Leali.’ They passed him like a flash. “Wonder,’ 
thought he, “what they will think of the old la- 
dies story, and my giving her a bottle of hair res- 
storative on such an occasion, and my asking her 
consent to marry Leah caps it all.’ 

That night his uncle laughed heartily over his 
day‘s experience, and told him to keep right on^ 


he would 1)6 cured of dyspepsia, and weigh two 
hundred pounds before snow flew. Tramping the 
dead leaves under foot, breathing in the frosty air, 
and enjoying a good laugh now and then, is better 
than a whole apothecaries shop. 

When the December winds piled the snow, My- 
ron Moody had grown roboust although he had se- 
scured no fortune, he had made a livlihood with 
his hair restorative. Now he bid his Uncle Ike, 
in the country town, adieu, and leaves for a dis- 
tant city where he has secured a position. 

He enters society, forming an acquaintance with 
many young ladies; but a certain three whom he 
frequently meets, interests him, as their names 
are Ruth, Leah and Rachael, sisters from no one 
knew where; but then, he is sure to find out. And 
later he learned for a fact that they resided with a 
widowed aunt, and during at least three months in 
a year, she insisted on residing at her county home 
and they assured him “They enjoyed the country 
very much, but regretted that their aunt was so 
deaf, as it barred her from society.’ 

“And really,’ said pert Ruth, “she does make 
some amusing blunders. One day last summer as 
we were going out for a ride on our automobile, 
we told her if the butcher called, to buy some 
meat, and some how she got it into her head that 
someone was coming to ask her consent ; and when 
we returned, she said he came and she had given 
her consent for him to marry Leah, and we almost 
convulsed with merriment when she showed us a 
bottle of hair restorative that she assured us he 
had given her,’ “but we felt bad later, when we 
learned that a young fellow was around selling 
hair restorative, and to think she never paid him 
for it, it was to bad, for boys don‘t travel the 
country just for the fun of it.’ said Leah. 

“Well I did,’ said Myron Moody, “for it was I 
57 


that had the iiiterestii]g interview with said Aun- 
tie, but she more than paid for the restorative,’ 
he declared with a inischieious wink at Leah. 

Kuth and Rachael laughed, but Leah Hushed 
feeling embarrassed. 

“Well, ” said Ruth, “you have at least, ob- 
tained Auntie/s consent.’ 

‘So far so good,’ said Myron. 

SulRce it to say, his next stex) was as successful 
as the first, and at their wedding. Auntie and his 
Uncle Ike met, after tliirty years sei^aration. 

Later, there was a quiet wedding, and the old 
coui^le were made one. 

Uncle Ike says, “better late than never.’ 



The Minister’s Daughter. 




Chapter I. 


The Rev. Beriah Tuttle was an old Yermonter, 
and people that knew him well,allirmed that he pos- 
sessed as much grit as the old Green Mountains 
of his native state. In the Sixties he went to a 
remote part of Wisconsin where churches were not 
as yet erected, and did duty as a Circuit Rider, 
preaching in school houses. He never iireached 
for money, but suiiiiorted himself and family by 
manual labor. He did not believe in the ‘'Laying 
up trensure on earth, where moth and rud doth corrupt 


and where thieves hr eah throuqh and steal” Nearly 
all lie had, over and above a livelihood, went for 
benevolent puriposes. And he deemed it a breach 
of faitli for a minister of the Gospel to have his 
life insured, for he who sent the ravens to feed 
His servant, would He not feed and care for 
the oh'springs of His ambassadors, if He saw fit to 
call His servant home. 

After a ten year struggle tp support his family, 
and preaching Sundays, his healtli failed, and his 
physician told liim that the arid atmosphere of 
Kansas was the best tonic for his case, and thith- 
er he and family went. With poor health he still 
preached and toiled; he stated that ‘‘it was better 
to wear out than to rust out.’ 

The rum-holes at that time were a greater detri- 
ment to tlie prosperity of Kansas than drouth or 
grasshoppers, and the Kev. Tuttle did not fear to 
attack them by day or by night, and every skir- 
misli along that line, whether victorious or defeat- 
ed, only rendered him the bolder, and more deter- 
mined to trample the viper of the still ‘neath his 
feet. He at times quoted from Oowper, 

“A kick that would not move a horse, 

May kill a sound divine.” 

And tlien he would laugh and say that it was a 
poor rule that would not work both ways, and his 
version Avas, “A kick that will kill a horse, ought 
not to move a sound divine.’ 

After three years in Kansas his wife died leaving 
him five small children. It was the greatest cross 
of his life, but he said — “I will cast my burden on 
the Lord, for I know He will sustain me. ’Some ad- 
vised him to marry again, but he shook his head. 
Two years after his wife‘s demise, lie died, firm 
in the faith that God Avhom he had served and 
trusted tlirough life Avould care for his children, 
in whose care he left them. After Rev. Tuttle was 
59 


interred the Chairman of tlie town took cliarge of 
the children, and what little earthly effects he left. 
Among Kev. Tuttle’s papers he found the address 
of four relatives of Mr. and Mrs. Tuttle, wliom he 
communicated with. Little Russel, aged four years 
was sent to Kentucky; Herbert, aged seven, was 
sent to a cousin in Minnesota; Warren, aged twelve, 
went to an uncle in Canada ;and a well-to-do broth- 
er of the late Mrs. Tuttle, sent Avord that he would 
take one of the girls, of which there Avere tAA^o; 
Arline, aged fourteen, Avas a strong, healthy girl, 
(avIio had cared for the others since her mother^ s 
death) and had the straight-forAvard look in her 
blue eyes that her father had possessed. She at 
once said that Millie must go, as she Avas Arline^s 
opposite, frail and meek; Millie Avas ten years of 
age. The sisters parted ne‘’er to meet on earth a- 
gain. 

Arline remained AAdtli the chairman‘s family, 
Avorked for her board and clothes, and attended 
school. Mr. Ray (the chairman) Avas a good, moral 
man, and AA^ell-to-do, yet not of a religious persua- 
sasion. At the age of sixteen Arline had lost much 
of her rigidness, and had become a fair, gay girl, 
a leader among her young friends. 

One day wdien Mr. Ray had several hands en- 
gaged in shearing sheep, several young ladies call- 
ed on Arline. As she had been Avhite-Avashing, 
the girls began to joke about Avhite-washing their 
faces in order to hide the freckles and tan, and 
dared each other to do so. At last Arline stepped 
before the mirror and complacently painted her 
face Avitli Avhite-wash. The girls laughed at her 
comic appearance until the tears rolled dovui their 
cheeks ; then they dared her to go, bonnetless, to 
the yard Avliere tlie men Avere at Avork, and ask 
them for the Avash-basin, which they had. Noth- 
ing daunted, olf she started, folloAA^ed by the girls. 

60 


She did not smile, as she could not, for the prairie 
zephyrs had stiffened the lime on her face. As she 
made her approach, the men shouted with glee, 
and told her the basin was in the barn. She did 
not hear their conversation, but as she emerged 
from the barn, basin in hand, she heard Paul 
Jones say “I dare,’ and he kissed her. He was 
a stranger to her, and wild as she was, it shocked 
her. She hurried to the house, and concluded she 
had made a fool of herself merely for the pleasure 
of others, a thing she would never be tempted to 
do again. 

Five years passed by. Arline had never heard 
from her little brothers, probably never would; 
her sister had died three years after her depart- 
ure from Kansas. Arline was now a fine woman; 
she had lost much of her folly and romance of her 
girlhood. She, though shrewd and firm, was pleas- 
ant, and above all, charitable. She had remained 
at Mr. Ray ‘s until eighteen years of age; since 
that time she had been teaching, but since the 
close of her last term (two months ago) she was 
serving in the family of a Mr. Ross, as maid-of-all- 
work; not so much for the filthy lucre, for her pay 
was doubtful ; but because she was needed, and 
she believed it to to be her duty to help the needy, 
regardless of her own desires, for she was serving 
her Master now, not the world, nor self. Arline 
had but few acquaintances, as her last year teach- 
ing had been in a neighborhood some miles distance 
from her old home. Ivan Ross and his delicate 
wife, Amelia had come to Kansas with their in- 
fant Lillie, to gain a home. They were not rich 
in earthly possessions, but firm in faith, the Lord 
would provide. But “God works in mysterious 
ways His wonders to perform.’ Instead of pros- 
pering, the Rosses were reduced almost to i)over- 
ty by the drouth ; then one of their horses and a 
61 


cow died;but worst of all was Amelia‘s invalidism. 
Arline seeing a brother and sister in Christ thus 
needing her assistance, dropped school-teaching 
and espoused their cause, rolled up her sleeves and 
went to work. She had had many offers of mar- 
riage, but decided that she would never marry a 
man that drank, used tobacco, indulged in profane 
or lend language. And, too, she knew of so many 
couples that were mismatched; and was acquaint- 
ed with men, that, before marriage had been so 
affectionate to their sweethearts, and lunv were 
negic ctful, and some even abusive to their wives 
and children, that she did not care to enter the 
matrimonal state. Mr. and Mrs. Ross were the 
nearest an ideal couple that she had met; through 
all their trials, their affection and confidence in 
in each other abated not. 

Mr. Ross lived on a rented farm, and the owner 
had many sheep, and now in shearing time, a few 
men were hired for several days. As the men 
were about to depart, one came into the kithen 
and asked Arline if she recognized him. She ad- 
mitted that his face was familiar, yet she could 
not x)lace him. He then told her that he wasPaul 
Jones, who she had met some five years previous, 
at Mr. Ray‘s. She flushed. He then apologized 
for his rudeness at the time, saying he was dared 
to do as he did. He then asked her to correspond 
him, which she declined to do. He then profess- 
ed his love for her, and would not take NO for an 
answer. He affirmed that he was a steady, indus- 
trious, honest man, without bad habits; and that 
he had money in the bank, and would l)e able to 
give her a home, with comforts, if not of the lux- 
uries of life. He got Mr. Ross to intercede for 
him, and at length Arline consented to correspond 
with him. 

Paul Jones was spending the summer with his 

62 


brother on a farm some fifteen miles distant, ex- 
cept when working away in shearing time. Several 
letters passed between them, yet Arline hesitated 
to give him further encouragement. 

Chapter II. 

It was August. Paul Jones was loath to give 
her up. He urged her to come out and visit his 
people. But fearing she might not wish to do so, 
he sent her the name and address of several per- 
sons in Iiis vicinity, that she might write to them 
regarding his people and himself. One was Rev\ 
Myron Reid, of the M. E. church. Arline at once con- 
cluded that she would write to him, for if any one 
would be expected to tell the truth, it would be 
the minister. So slie addressed him explaining in 
detail the why and wherefore of her request. It 
was an honest, brave letter, and no mock modesty 
therein. A response was promptly returned, and 
is as candid a style as her own, and was as follows. 

Dear Miss Tuttle, — 

Yours at hand, and in reply will 
say that I have found Paul Jones’ name on tlie 
church book, and recently lie has attend services 
every Sunday, yet I am but slighly acquainted 
Avith him as I have not been on the circuit a year. 
None of his people attend church, and as they live 
four miles from toAvn, and there are no other mem- 
bers on that route, I have not as yet visited in 
that part of the county, but hope to in the near 
future. As for you visiting them, that depends 
on circumstances. I may not like to express my 
opinion of them in writing, after visiting and learn- 
ing Avhat I can of them ; so I cordially invite you 
to come here, by rail, some Saturday afternoon. 

The M. E. church is in plain view from tlie de- 
pot, and the parsonage is at the right of the church. 
The train arrives here at twilight, and you are 
63 


welcome to remain with us over the Sahbath ; and 
if what I learn meantime is in Paul Jones’ favor, 
you can return with him after morning service. But 
if he is not present, and you desire to go to his 
home, I will see you there Monday. 

Kespectfully yours. 

Rev. Myron Reid. 

Arline admired his candor. And two weeks la- 
ter she set out on the short journey. Her mind 
Avas not as full of romance as it might have been 
at the age of sixteen. She thought seriously on 
the subject of so much importance. Was Paul 
Jones worthy, honest, industrious, and did lie un- 
felfishly love her or was it because she could work 
and further his worldly ambitions? These ques- 
tions occupied her mind on the short journey, and 
indeed it seemed short as she stepped from the car 
to the platform. There stood the church, its steeple 
kissed by the last rays of the setting sun. 

As she rang the door bell at the parsonage, she 
was met by a haughty, handsome lady, wlio instead 
of inviting her in, came out and closed the door 
behind her; then after bestowing a penetrating 
gaze on Arline, asked in a harsh tone of voice, 

“What do you Avish, marm?’ 

“Is the Pastor at home?’ asked Arline in meek 
accents. 

“Yes,” replied she, “but he does not see every- 
thing, especially while he is Avriting his sermons.’ 

Arline turned to go. 

“What do you want of him?, asked the Avoman 
in a commanding voice. 

Arline hesitated, then turned and said, “I shall 
probably see him tomorroAv. Good evening madam . ’ 

O ! so glad Avas Arline to quit her presence and 
get back on the street again. Once she looked 
back, the Avoman Avas still standing watching ; two 
boys were by her side. “And so,” thought she, 
64 


“that is the preacher’s wife and children. Fine 
manners they have,’ 

As she wended her way down the street a ter- 
rible loneliness siezed her. “O,” thought she, “if 
I were only back home, but there is no train un- 
til midnight, and that may not stop at this small 
town. Where am I to go?’ She walked on; but, 
as if in answer to her question, there soon appeared 
a sign with “HoteP’ thereon. 

The landlord and lady were pleasant and sociable. 
Yes, Arline admitted she had expected to meet 
some one and failed, the name she did not give. 
She asked them if all the schools in the vicinity 
were engaged, stating she was a teacher and would 
like to engage one for the winter term. 

The next morning as she wended her way to the 
M.E. church, all sorts of vehicles passed her,and she 
felt almost disgusted as their occupants turned and 
stared at her. She hid behind her parasol, and 
once, on loking out as a single rig passed her, she 
saw Paul Jones, a pretty smiling girl was beside 
him, and his arm encircled her waist. 

“O!” said Arline in a whisper, “isn‘t that nice? 
Worth going a thousand miles to see. No wonder 
the minister thought best for me to come.’ 

The church-usher placed Arline in a pew di- 
rectly behind Paul Jones. His lady-love turned 
around and stared fully two minutes at her, then 
whispered to Paul, “Say, there is an awful pretty 
gal ))ehind you, and proud as lucifer, you bet.’ 

Paul could not turn around without rising as 
there were others in his pew. The minister had 
not yet arrived, and as the church filled with 
peoide, all gazed at her until her cheeks were red 
as roses, with embarrasment. Her attire was fault- 
less; her complexion, fair; and her silken, brown 
tresses were combed back from her high forehead ; 
while her keen blue eyes, and clear-cut features 
65 


bespoke her noble inindedness. At length a tall, 
erect, graceful form passed up the aisle, and fol- 
lowing him was the proud woman that had been 
so uncivil to her the previous evening ; two boys 
brought up the rear. The man ascended the pul- 
pit steps, and knelt to pray. The woman and 
boys took one of the side seats, in plain view of 
Arline, and fastened her greenish eyes on her; Ar- 
line returned her gaze fearlessly. Paul Jones’ 
girl whispered to Paul, then slipped her hand in- 
to his, and they grinned lovingly at each other. 

As the minister arose and cast a glance over his 
congregation, his eyes rested on Arline, and she 
actually flushed to think she had been guilty of 
writing to him. And a look in his eyes told her, 
plainer than words, that he was aware that it was 
her. She regained her composure, as he read the 
hymn,— ‘‘Jesus lover of my soul.’ 

The hymn went straight to her heart, and she 
felt that “Jesus would hide her defenseless head 'neath 
the shadow of His wing,” As they arose to sing her 
heart was inspired, and as she sang her spirit 
seemed to float, to the Lamb of God, neath whose 
sheltering wings weary ones find protection and 
rest. Paul turned. Arline saw the look of utter 
astonishment in his face, but he turned quickly, 
and she sang on like an angel. 

When they were again seated, the little sweet 
thing tried to tuck her hand again into PauPs, 
with a sickish smile marring her countenance. 
Paul bent toward her and whispered in a harsli 
accent — “Behave yourself.’ 

Her faced flushed Avith anger, and she straight- 
ened up, and was the essence of proprietry dur- 
ing the discourse. 

Arline quite forgot her surroundings she was so 
carried away from earthly matters to Heavenly 
things, by the sad, earnest look of the speaker as 


he, in a sweet melodious, pleading voice, told 
them of the loving Savior who was able to save, 
even to the uttermost, all those that called upon 
Him. His tiieine Avas “The reality of Life, here 
and hereafter.’ 

‘‘Life is real, life is earnest, 

And the grave is not its goal.” 

As soon as tlie benediction was pronounced Ar- 
line turned in haste to leave the church, but as 
she reached the door it was blocaded. An instant 
later a hand Avas gently laid on her shoulder, turn- 
ing she met the mild, serious eyes of the preacdier. 
“Miss Tuttle, I believe,’ he said extending his 
hand. She boAved an assent. 

“You called last evening,’ he continued, “and 
Avas not received. I regret it very much. I kneAV 
nothing of the matter until this morning. You 
return home Avitli me, and I will explain — ’ 

O, no, she replied, “I have secured what I came 
in search of, and am in haste to return on the one 
o‘clock train.’ 

She spied Paul Jones just behind the minister; 
he looked ill-at-ease. 

“How do you do, Mr. Jones?’ she said pleasantly 

“Ahem! Good morning. You surprise me. Miss 
Tuttle,, he said sheepishly. 

“And you surprise me.’ she responded, her red 
lips parting Avitli a smile exhibiting a roAV of pear- 
ly teeth. 8he saw a gleam in the preacher^ s eyes 
that she could never forget. 

Paul Jones made no attempt to introduce the 
beAvildered maid at his heels. 

Arline then turned and said to the croAvd in the 
doorvAuiy — “Please let me pass.” The \Amndering 
crowd passed out along Avith her. Paul avoided 
furtiier communication with her; and she, Avell 
satisfied, hastened to the street, and soon arrived 
at the depot. 


67 


8he was glad to get back home once more, and 
Ivan and Amelia were much amused over her ad- 
venture. Yet Arline did not regret her tour, she 
said, ‘^It was a lesson from the book of Human 
Nature, which all should study for tlieir own edi- 
fication.’ Arline, after thinking the matter over, 
concluded that an explanation was due to the kind 
minister, who must have been puzzled over her 
ilighty conduct, and perhaps she had been the 
means of causing hard-feelings between man and 
wife. Many were her thoughts, but she decided, 
and addressed him as follows. 

Eev. Myron Keid, 

Dear Sir, — 

Having arrived home a wiser and 
happier woman, I concluded that an explanation 
was due you. I thank you for your kind words to 
a stranger. Perhaps you have been among stran- 
gers and realize the value of kindness. Yes, I 
found out all I care to know regarding Paul Jones. 
The love sick performance in church robbed me of 
all the respect I ever had for him, and I assure 
you it cast no shadow on my path. But my re- 
ception at the parsonage did. By your wife^s con- 
duct I judged she knew nothing of our correspon- 
dence. Yes, I am aware that I marked my letter 
'strictly private’, but I was not thinking of your 
wife at the time, any more than if I had been 
writing to a lawyer. And if you have not explain- 
ed the nature of the case to her, by all means do 
so at at once, and tell her I did not feel like going 
into the details of an explanation that evening. 

I enjoyed the services very much, as we have 
no preaching in this vicinity, yet as Mr. Boss and 
wife are professors of religion, people here-abouts 
come on Sunday, and Mr. Boss reads one ofMoody’s 
or Talmage's sermons to them, and we have pray- 
ers and singing, also a Sunday school. It helps 


much to render life here enjoyable. Give my re- 
spects to your wife. 

Yours a Sister in the Fold of Christ, 
Arlixe Tuttle. 

A week later Arline was quite surprised by re- 
ceiving a letter from Rev. Reid, which ran as fol- 
lows. 

Miss Tuttle, 

Dear Sister, — 

You are laboring under a mistake. 
That lady, who so rudely treated you, is not my 
wife. Thank God! but my sister-in-law. She witli 
her two boys, and my mother-in-law, have been 
the bane of my existence for some years past, and 
the time has now arrived when patience ceases to 
be a virtue. And as they have sufficient for their 
own maintenance, I shall house them no longer. 
1 had given them a fair understanding of my in- 
tentions, and, knowing their time was short, they 
tried in various ways to make my home life intol- 
erable, and also to injure me in the eyes of the 
people. I should not thus have spoken of my do- 
mestic affairs to a stranger, but 1 was so mortified 
at your reception here, and after I had invited you. 

Regarding Paul Jones, I made inquiries concern- 
ing him. I could learn nothing particular bad of 
him, nor could 1 find much in his favor. He is a 
Jack-at-all-trades, here today, and there tomorrow. 
Perhaps a good wife might make a man of him. I 
was conversing with him yesterday. He seems 
terrible mortified over the affair. He says that 
girl was his brother‘s hired girl, and his sister-in- 
law wished him to pay her some attention so she 
would remain and work for them. Yes, I had, for 
some time past seen them at church together, and 
supposed them to be engaged ; then picture my 
surprise on receiving your letter. I did not wish 
to write what I had seen, nor tlie comments of the 


people, so invited you to see for yourself. Am 
glad if the truth left no wound in your heart. 

Yours, A Oross-bearer, 

Myron Eeid. 

P. S. — If I can ever be of any service to you, an 
orphan, please let me know. M. E. 

A pity crept into her heart for the minister who 
had delivered so inspiring a sern, cm She believed 
liim to be a good man, though mortal. She laid 
the letter aside ; no, it required no reply. She 
then condemned herself for so often repining over 
her lonely lot. She had sometimes said — 

“If father had laid by something for his own 
children, instead of giving all to the heathen, I 
might have been something.’ “Well,” thought 
she, after reading his letter, “All have trouble, 
the rich as well as the poor, and often the poor 
are the happiest. Now here are Mr. and Mrs. Eoss 
who have lost all their worldly goods, yet they are 
rich in their love and trust in eacli other, and their 
faith in God. I fear she is not long for this world. 
Yes, I will remain, pay or no pay, the Lord will re- 
ward me. Idl lay up my all in tlie solid bank of 
Heaven, as my father before me did. The faith- 
ful of old did not receive their reward here, not 
even Christ. Am I more worthy than they. No, 
in no wise. 

Chapter III. 

One Saturday afternoon in September, Mr. and 
Mrs. Eoss had gone for a ride, and Arline having 
completed her day‘s task, seated herself on the 
vine-covered porch with baby Lillie in her lap. 
The small village one-fourth of a mile distant was 
in full view, but the road leading their Avay, was 
mostly screened by a roAv of cotton- wood trees. 
Arline felt happy, as sweet, blue-eyed Lillie nest- 
led in her arms, prattling baby fashion. The toot 
70 


of the train reminded her of her trip, and she be- 
gan to sing — 

“Jesus, lover of my soul, 

Let me to thy bosom fly.” 

She was startled as a clear manly voice joined 
in ; and raising her eyes, saw Kev. Keid, accompa- 
nied by a child enter the front yard. 

“Beg bardon, for thus intruding,’ said he, smil- 
ing, “As you Avere singing my favorite hymnlAA^as 
tempted to join you. I am on my Avay to confer- 
ence, and thought I would stop over Sunday and 
preach here ; as you stated you had no minister in 
these parts.’ 

Arline informed him that Mr. and Mrs. Boss 
Avould soon return home, and she felt assured that 
they would be much pleased. He then said — 

“This is my little four year old Emmor. She is 
my only child, and as I have broken up house- 
keeping for the present, I brought her with me.’ 

Slie presented her tiny hand to Arline, who 
warmly clasped it. Lillie cried out, “Baby want 
kiss.’ 

Rev. Reid sat Emmor on Arline‘s lap; and, af- 
ter declaring that she liked babies, Emmor hugged 
and kissed little Lillie, Avhich she returned aifect- 
ionately. 

“You are showing partiality, Emmor, give the 
lady some of your sAveetnes,’ said Rev. Reid with 
a smile. Whereupon Emmor threAV her arms a- 
ound Arline‘s neck, and little Lillie did likeAvise. 

“This,” said Rev. Reid, “brings to my mind the 
words of Fanny Fern, ‘A pair of chubby baby arms 
are the prettiest necklace ever worn by Avoman.’ 
And as you have two pair of them, the effect is 
doubly pleasing, and Avorthy of a compliment.’ 

Arline saw the same peculiar look in his eyes 
that she had perceived at the churcli door, and her 
gaze fell. Emmor slid from her lap and mounted 
71 


her papa‘s knee, and in an audible whispered said, 

‘‘She is sweet.” 

“Who, which?’ asked he, laughing. 

“Both of them. Won‘t you buy that baby for 
me? I like her ever so much,’ added Emmor. 

Arline flushed, as she peered down the road. 

The following day was a Eed Letter Day for the 
poor people of Arid Vale ; a day long to be re- 
membered, as preaching by a real Divine was an 
uncommon thing. 

Monday morning Rev. Reid asked permission to 
leave Emmor with the Ross family until after con- 
ference, which request was granted. 

The following week he called for the child, ar- 
riving at eventide. Arline was sitting on a 
lounge, with Lillie on one knee, and Emmor be- 
side her. Rev. Reid was conversing with Mr. and 
Mrs. Ross in an adjoining room. The door being 
ajar, Arline overheard snatches of their conversa- 
tion. 

“My wife has been dead three years,’ said Rev. 
Reid. (Arline had wondered how it was that he 
had never mentioned his wife.) And then he said 
something about getting married again; and about 
some one to take care of Emmor ; and then about 
getting settled; and her name was mentioned. 

“Hum !” thought Arline, indignantly, “He is 
going to get married and wants some one take care 
of his child until they are settled. Well, that 
someone won‘t be me. Why couldn‘t they have 
married at conference time, and not troubled oth- 
ers? I presume she is a high-flyer like his sister- 
in-law, and Avants a swell wedding. Suppose she 
will be a leader in society, and home Avill only be 
a place in which to change her apparel. And you, 
dear sweet child will be left to the care of a do- 
mestic, and never know a mother ‘s love.’ She 
folded the happy Emmor to her bosom and kissed 
U 


her soft pink cheek. She was shocked when she 
heard these words — 

‘‘Miss Tuttle, you seem fond of children.’ She 
looked up surprised. There stood Rev. Reid near 
her, with that queer look in his eyes. As she made 
no reply he continued, “I have a favor to ask of 
you. May I ask it?’ 

“O! no, not to night. I am savagely cross and 
tired.’ she replied with a pucker in her forehead. 

He looked surprised and retorted, “I believe 
those babies do not think so.’ 

“Those babies,’ she retorted‘ kept me awake the 
greater part of the night.’ 

“That’s too bad; how did it happen?’ he asked. 
And she replied, half seriously, half comically. 

“Miss Pussy, in her endeavors to capture a bat, 
tore the netting in the window, and it really did 
seem that every mosquito within the radius of 
twenty miles knew of that rent in the mosquito- 
bar, and came, Avith one accord, to banquet on 
those babies. And as I Avas determined to preserve 
the life-blood of the restless sleepers, I fought it 
out all night, Avith the musical iiiA^aders. He shook 
his head, and bit his lip to hide a smile, then said 

“I am sorry, indeed I am. What is my share of 
the damages?’ 

“I think,’ she replied, “that the damages are not 
yours, but Emmor‘s. Look at her face.’ 

‘Nothing serious, yet unpleasant.’ retorted he. 
“I hope the stings of her life Avill be no greater.’ 

“If,” added he, in an earnest tone, “I am not 
permitted to ask the favor tonight, Iioav soon may 
I? Can I see you in the morning.? 

“You can ask the faAmr a year hence,’ said she, 
looking out of the Avindow. 

He looked aghast, but she heeded him not, as 
he took Emnior from her lap and turned to leave 
73 


the room, he said in a low, sad tone, ‘‘A year is a 
long time, but I will wait. 

He left on the 4 a. m. train, before Arline was 
up. There was a pain in her heart; her conscience 
accused her. She knew that she had grieved the 
minister by her curt reply. Yes, she might have 
let him ask her to care for Emmor. 

“Well, well, what is the use of repenting Avhen 
it is too late. I shall never meet him again; per- 
haps never hear of him.’ She was glad that neith- 
er Mr. and Mrs. Ross mentioned his name in her 
presence. 

Arline taught the following winter and boarded 
at th.e Ross‘s working for her board. The next 
suminer she again played the role of hired-girl. 
Mid-summer Mrs. Ross went to a hospital in a dis- 
tant city and had an operation performed. She 
returned home feeble, but her recovery w^as antici- 
pated. Her appetite w^as poor, and she craved 
for lish. So one evening Mr. Ross and tw^o of his 
neighbors went some distance to a lake fishing. 
While mid-lake a gale suddenly arose, the small 
craft was upset, and Mr. Ross (who could not swim) 
W71S drowned. Mrs. Ross, being so feeble, failed 
rapidly, and in less than twm weeks w^as laid be- 
side her husband in the country burial ground. 
She gave little Lillie to Arline who had been such 
a mother to her. 

Arline was sad hearted. She sincerely mourned 
the loss of Mr. and Mrs. Ross, and like many an- 
other, she asked herself. Why? They ^vere such 
a model couple. They were such a help, spirit- 
ually, to the people of the vicinity. AV'hy could 
they not have been spared? 

Arline w^as allow^ed the houshold goods for her 
w^ages; and she had a few hundred in the bank, 
tliat she had saved of her school money. Slie w^ent 
to a city some thirty miles distant, rented a house 
74 


and made ready to take boarders. The coming 
week was the M. E. conference, and being locat- 
ed near the M. E. church, eight ministers hired 
her rooms, or boarded with her. Arline was much 
surprised to find that one of her boarders was none 
other than the Kev. Myron Keid. He seemed much 
pleased to meet her, and cpiestioned her regarding 
her presence in the city. She briefly related the 
sad story of the Koss family ; and as she told him 
she had undertaken to support and be a mother, 
to little Lillie, he took the child in his arms and 
kissed her, then said — 

“Miss Tuttle, mark my word, the Lord Avill pay 
good interest, in His own time and way, for all 
that is invested in His bank.’ 

She then inquired regarding his family. He look- 
ed surprised, but said, “My child, Emmor, I pre- 
sume you refer too, or did you hear that I was 
married again?’ he asked, eyeing her keenly. 

“Well,” replied she, “I think I heard something 
to that effect, somewhere, sometime. Yet I am 
not positive.’ 

The week was a busy one, and Arline was a Mar- 
tha and not a Mary. At the close of the conference 
Kev. Keid, asked her if she would accept him as 
a boarder, as he had been stationed to preach in 
the city, and it was near the church. Arline gave 
him the parlor and parlor bed room. She then put 
up the sign, 

“Roomers wanted, students preferred.’ 

At eventide she put Lillie to bed, enrobed her- 
self in a pink wrapper, and sat down to rest. A 
prayer of thanksgiving arose from her lieart. She 
surely could exist; it would not cost much to sup- 
port herself and Lillie. She could rent the rooms 
up-stairs. The diningroom, kitchen, bedroom and 
pantry would be sufficient for Lillie and herself. 

On hearing footsteps, she thought perhaps it 
75 


might be students who would wish to look at 
her rooms, as she had heard that several had come 
from the surrounding country to attend the new 
business college, which was to open the following 
Monday. She had just lit the lamp when she heard 
footsteps in the hall, “’Tis the minister,’ thought 
she, ‘'as he has a key to the front door.’ 

The door leading fromthe hall to the dining-room, 
opened, and Kev. Reid entered and bid her a cher- 
ry Good Evening. 

“Have you been to tea?’ she querried. 

“Yes, thanks.’ he replied. 

She took a seat on the lounge, after giving him a 
chair. Lillie who had awakened came trotting in- 
to the room in her white befrilled night robe. 

“What a pretty child,’ remarked Rev. Reid. 

“Come to me, won't you?’ 

“No, sir,’ she said, Avith a merry twinkle in her 
eyes, as she mounted Arline's knee’ and entwined 
her chubby arms about her neck, and printed 
moist kisses on her blushing cheeks. Arline ex- 
cusingly remarked that, “She was a veiy alfec- 
tionate, and SAveet dispositioned child, and rare- 
ly ^ga\^e her any trouble. 

'^Now, Miss Lillie,” said he, “you should pass 
your sAveetness around’and he seated himself on the 
lounge beside them. “Come, pretty creature, and 
give me a kiss.’ he continued. 

Lillie stepped from Arline's la]) to his, and em- 
braced and kissed him. She then sprar.g back in- 
to Arline's lap, nestled on her bosom, and AA^as soon 
asleep. 

“1 presume you hold her most dear of all the 
AA^orld,’ said ReA\ Reid. 

“She is all I have, replied Arline, and again she 
noted that look in his eyes. Ashe remained filent 
she added, '*! have a faA’or to ask of you.’ 

“Wait a year,’ he responded Avith a laugh. 

76 


She flushed, then said, “No, I will not wait. I 
wisli you to help me get a few students for my 
rooms, to help me earn a crust for Lillie and my- 
self.’ then hastily, with downcast eyes, for she 
could not meet his steadfast earnest gaze. 

“I am much ashamed of the manner in which I 
refused to listen to your request one year ago;al- 
though I was tired and cross, still I could have 
been civil, and should listen to your request, at 
least. I liad overheard a little of the conversation 
between T\Irs. Ross and yourself, therefore was a- 
ware that you wished to find a place for Emmor, 
for awhile; and no doubt Mrs. Ross referred you 
to me ; but with what work I had to do, and Mrs. 
Ross’ poor health, I felt that I could not undertake 
more.’ She did not look up, or she would have 
been puzzled by the expression that lit his coun- 
tenance, but spoke on, “I have been expecting 
that you would want to bring your child here. You 
must be lonely without her.’ 

“Emmor will arrive an hour hence, by train; I 
received a telegram to that effect just before I 
came in.’ he replied then added, “The lady in 
whose care I left her, promised to keep her longer 
but must go west to her daughter, who is ill, hence 
Emmor is coming tonight .And as I have waited a 
year to ask my favor, I will ask it now. Will you 
love Emmor and be a mother to her?’ 

“Yes, with God‘s help I will.’ she replied. She 
was amazed as he placed his arm around her, and 
kissed her. “How soon may we be married?’ he 
asked, and then he poured forth his undying love 
for her. He had admired the candor of her first 
letter, and while speaking to her at the church 
door he had decided to win her for his wife. She 
was silent. It seemed so queer that she was real- 
ly engaged, and too, before she had surmised the 
nature of the favor he had asked. Their meeting 
77 


tliougli accidental, was providential and had sav- 
ed him from searching for lier, as he would other- 
wise have done. As she still said nothing, he 
asked in a grieved tone, “Arline, do yon not care 
for me? Have you only pity for my child that you 
accept me?’ 

She knew she cared for him, and admitted the 
fact. But she did not tell liim that she misun- 
derstood ]iis meaning, when she gave the promise. 

Ohaptep IY. 

The next Sunday Arline remained at home with 
the two children, as she was aware Kev. Reid was 
to give out their to-be-marriage, which he did thus 
wi se — 

“Next Wednesday, at ten o’clock a. m. your 
liumble Pastor will be united in the Holy bonds 
of matrimony to a certain young lady of this town. 
All are cordially invited to be liere at the speci- 
fied time.’ 

Later he wired to another town to a brother 
clergyman that he ‘wished his services to tie a 
matrimonial knot.’ 

It was not so much a surprise to the people that 
tlieir minister was soon to marry, as, whom was 
the young lady? as Re^. Reid was almost a strang- 
er in the vicinity. Inquire as they would they 
were none the wiser. 

Wednesday morning dawned bright and fair. 
Rev. Reid and his minister friend entered church 
together and ascended the pulpit steps. Arline 
and the two children passed up the aisle to a front 
pew, known as the Parson ‘s family pew. After a 
prayer by Rev. Reid the glergyman arose and said, 

“Brother Reid is about to take unto himself a 
wife, a young lady of the congregation.’ As Rev. 
Reid arose and descended the pulpit steps, a smile 
on his noble face, the people sat in open mouthed 
78 


wonder, straining their eyes to see whom the hride- 
elect might be. They were not kept long in sus- 
pense, as lie took but a step or two ere he halted 
and proll'ered his arm to Arline ; who, as she arose, 
dropped lier shawl, revealing her white cashmere 
dress. She was what the people termed pretty, 
but now they thought her lovely. But few had 
any idea whom she might be, and even those few 
could not ])lace her at first. The newly married cou- 
ple were congratulated, and received many gifts. 

Arline soon won the hearts of her husband‘s flock 
and was beloved by all. Kev. Reid adopted Lillie 
so she should bear his name and be as his own, 
and when they were stationed in a new place, no 
one knew that Arline was his second wife, nor but 
what the children were jointly theirs. ‘Tis best 
thus.’ asserted Rev. Reid. ‘‘And, too, in one re- 
spect you are my first wife, Arline dear, for 1 nev- 
er loved my other wife, though I was true to her 
in every thought and act. She was a frail creat- 
ure, and her life was short. The reason, that my 
mother-in-law and sister-in-law were so bitter on 
my young lady callers was they feared I would 
marry again, an it was their aim that I should 
marry my sister-in-law. 

Later Rev. and Mrs. Reid heard that a new 
church was being erected at Arid Vale, and they 
contributed largely to it. “Ah I’, remarked Rev. 
Reid, “God did not let the good seed perish, that 
Ivan Ross planted. Yea, God careth for his own, 
tliough he calleth His faithful servants up higher. 

Later still Arline was delighted to see, in a 
Minnesota paper, one of her brothers’ names on a 
State Prohibition ticket. And she also learned 
that her brother in the South had espoused the 
cause of the colored race. And her brother in 
Canada, whose occupation was farming, had start- 
ed a Humane Society in his vicinity. 

: 79 


'‘They are cliips of the old block,’ said Arliiie, 
“they have grit enoiigli to espouse tlie cause of the 
weaker side.’ 

Emnior, Lillie, and little Oliver 
“Grew in beauty side by side 
They filled one home with glee.” 




LOST COUPLE. 



“John! John! get up quick, someone is ringing 
the door bell,’ cried out Painelia Goodwin to her 
sleepy spouse. 

“Hum! The door 1x11. Who in thunder is it, 
and what in the name of the dickens do they want 
at this time of the night,’ blurted out John Good- 
win as he tumbled out of bed and began to fum- 
ble around on the dresser for a match, upsetting a 
glass of water containing his false teeth; and his 
wife's face powder })ox rolled olf on the lloor, and 
he also upset numerous other articles; finally loos- 
ing his temi^er he yelled out. 'Hkimelia, where 
are the matches? They will ring the house down 
if they keep on ringing.’ 

“Oh, dear!” cried his wife, “you have upset the 
water over the matches. OaiTtyou get your pants 
on in the dark?’ 

“But where are they? You have tugged them 
olf I suppose, just like a wonuub can't leave a maiTs 
things alone, not even his pants.’ But Bamelia 


did not wait to liear all her liege lord might say, 
she slipped on her komona and found her way 
down the stairs in the dark, and while John was 
still in search of his missing pants, which he had 
stumbled over two or three times, she was at the 
door lighted lamp in hand, asking whom might be 
their midnight callers. 

“A Friend,-’ Avas the response, and she unlocked 
and opened tlie door. A tall gentleman, and a la- 
dy clad in a rain coat stood before her. “’Beg par- 
don,’ said he. “I am very sorry indeed to disturb 
you at this time of the night ; but you see it is rain- 
ing, and Ave are lost, our automobile lights went 
out and Ave could not — 

“Oonie right in, you are Avelcome,’ said she, “I 
am very sorry that you should be lost on such a 
dark stormy night as this.’ 

They entered, and after removing their rain coats 
followed her into the sitting room, Avhere the coal 
stove threAv its Avarmth, gratefully accepting easy 
chairs Avhich she offered them. 

“Oh! my dear AA^oman,’ said the lady stranger. 
“You can never realize hoAv Ave appreciate your 
kindness. Just think of our dilema ; out, Ave knoAV 
not Avhere, the rain pouring down, and it groAving 
darker every minute, and not reaching the toAvn 
AA e expected too. We did come to a sort of a vil- 
lagg Avhere a feAv street lights AA^ere still burning 
but not a light in any of the houses; eA^en the sa- 
loons were closed, but Ave saw a couple of half drunk- 
en men Avho AA^ere not able to get home. We in- 
quired of them for a hotel, and one of them reel- 
ing along, led the Avay to a hotel. He rang the 
bell, then pounded on the door, then shouted:’ 

“Ho! Jack! Strangers AA^ant lodgings.’ 

“At length a Avindow opened in the second story, 
and a A^oice shouted. “Is that you Tom.” 

“Yes it‘s me; strangers want — 

81 


^‘Tom, you drunken fool, if you don‘t go away 
at once you shall spend the remainder of the night 
in the lock up; and the window went down with a 
hang. 

“Ho ! ho !’ howled the drunken fellow. Hear 
tliat will you ! The lock-up is the only i^lace open 
to travelers after ten o’clock at night. ITI escort 
ye there if ye want to go; the bunks are hard, but 
the roof don‘t leak.’ 

At this juncture John Goodwin appeared on tlie 
scene ;he had not succeeded in finding the lamp, 
but had found his pants, got into them, and found 
his way down stairs. 

“Oh John !” said his wife after giving him a 
look, she turned her head to hide a smile. John 
blinked as he noticed the lady turn her head and 
blush, and the man bite his lip to prevent laughter. 
John Ijlinked again, then casting his eyes down- 
ward perceived that he had put his pants on wrong 
side out. 

“By the power of the guns, if that don‘t beat 
the Jews.’ he exclaimed. 

“Sorry said the stranger, to thus disturb you. 
We were trying to make Dunville today, but some 
how missed the turn the forepart of tlie evening, 
and took the wrong road, and have been going out 
of our way every since. Will you please let us sit 
by your comfortable fire until morning? It would 
be a great accomodation.’ 

“No,” said John decisively, “you cannot sit by 
the stove but you can have a bed. By the, way 
what are your names, and where are you from?’ 

“We are from Alderman, where we are return- 
ing to. We have been to Oiota on business, with 
our automobile, and took the wrong road in return- 
ing. My name is Smith, and this is my sister 
Adelia,’ said he. 

“Then you will want two beds,’ said John. 

82 


‘‘Never mind,’ said Mr. Smith, “I can sit by 
tlie fire ; but if you can give my sister a bed I sliail 
be thankful.’ 

Mr. and Mrs. ( foodwin never done things by 
halves, so each of the strangers were given a bed, 
and they slept the sleep of the just until Old Sol 
again lit the worl 1 with his glory, and the dripping 
foliage rellected Ids light in each falling tear. 

Mr. and Miss S.uith were up and dressed in time 
for breakfast, and the hired man greeted them 
with “Good morning Mr. and Mrs. Jones.’ They 
returned the salute somewhat embarrassed ex- 
changing glances with each other. “Mr. and Mrs. 
Jones’ repeated John Goodwin with a severe look. 
Mr. and Miss Smith laughed but made no expla- 
nation. When the hired man went out John fol- 
lowed him demanding an explanation. 

“Oh! I don‘t know anything about the people,’ 
said he, “only when 1 was home a week ago, these 
same folks came along in an automobile ; they had 
a little girl with tliem and they took dinner with 
my people. They gave their names as Mr. and Mrs. 
Jones, and Lilly, their little girl. The child call- 
ed them mamma and papa, anyway.’ 

“They are impostors,’ declared John, bringing 
his fist down hard on the milk stand, “and I‘ll 
just let them know that I don‘t care to be impos- 
ed upon ;’ and honest John returned to the house, 
his eyes Hashing with indignation. 

“Sir,” said he, “I don‘t like being humbuged. 
My hired man said that you were at his father‘s 
last week; you were Jones then, and this woman 
was your wife, and you had a daughter. Now you 
are Mr. Smith and sister and the kid has disap- 
peared. Gan you tell the truth or not?’ demand- 
ed Jolin. 

The lady Hushed and bit her lip, and the man 
laughed. 


83 


'‘Yes,” said the man, I can tell the truth. All 
liars can tell the truth sometimes. I will tell you all 
except our names, that is immaterial to you. You 
see it is like this. We don't wish to have our 
names in the paper, and every local paper has a 
correspondent in each town; and as we have been 
on a sixty mile trip, we have during that time 
stopped in a half a dozen different towns ; hence 
if we told our correct names, our names, as well 
as our business would appear in as many local pa- 
pers; and I being a business man and well known, 
do not care to have my private affairs on every- 
body's tongue. It is like this. Some two years 
ago my wife died leaving me alone with a girl ba- 
by. I broke up housekeeping and hired my child 
cared for ; this lady here, and her mother cared 
for my little daughter, hence she called them mam- 
ma and grandma, and as I called frequently to 
visit my child, she called me papa as she should. 
Hence where we stopped for our meals, enroiite 
for Oiota, where we were taking my child to my 
sister, who is now going to take charge of her, peo- 
ple naturally supposed us to be man, wife and 
child, and Ave let them thinks so except Avhere we 
remained over night then we were brother and sis- 
ter, to avoid remarks. Now you see it Avas neces- 
sary for this lady to accompany me Avith my child, 
hence Ave are sometimes Smith, sometimes Jones, 
as the case may be. Noav I trust my explanation 
is satisfactory,’ said he, as he arose, adding, "a fine 
morning after such a stormy night. We must fin- 
ish our journey, hence must be moving on. Noav 
what are your charges? We are very grateful for 
your hospitality, and are both Avilling and able to 
pay you.’ 

“Oh! never mind the pay.’ said John, “Justtell 
us your real name, that is all AA^e ask.’ 

“Can you assure me that it shall hot find its way 

84 


into the local sheets?’ asked the stranger. 

“Yes, surely,’ certified John. 

“Well, my name is Leon Lockport, and this is 
Miss Tinny.’ 

“Lockport, Lockport, where have I heard tliat 
name !’ said John. 

“Why the editor of the “Bee” is named Lock- 
port,’ said the school teacher who boarded there. 

“The same,’ said the stranger. 

“Are you the editor of the Bee?’ inquired Mrs. 
Goodwin and the teaclier. Miss Pitts, in chorus. 

“The same,’ admitted the editor; “and now you 
can realize why I have traveled under assumed 
names. And this I presume, is Miss Pitts, one of 
my town correspondents is it not?’ he asked turn- 
ing to the teacher. 

“Yes, indeed;’ said Miss Pitts, “and your name 
must go into into the paper, too. It is a poor doc- 
tor that won‘t take his own medicine.’ declared 
Miss Pitts. 

“Oh! don‘t please,’ pleaded the editor, “Ulpay 
any forfeit rather than luive our names in my col- 
umns under the blazing lieadlines of The Lost 
Couple. Now see hear my dear correspondent, I 
don't mind for myself, it is for Adelia Tinny's 
sake. She is soon to be married to a young gen- 
tleman who resides in another county ; lie takes 
the paper, and things in print look much worse than 
tliey really are, and you know that other fellow 
miglit be jealous, not realizing tlie necessity of her 
accompanying me to take care of the child, besides 
the child would not go with me alone, and then we 
were obliged to remain there until my little one 
became acquainted with my sister, so we could 
leave her, which she was slow to do, and at last 
we came away when she was asleep. My heart 
aches to think of the little ones grief on her awak- 
ening.’ 


8 $ 


“Wliy don‘t you marry and liave a home for your 
child.’ asked Miss Pitts. 

‘'Oh! Miss Pitts, if you would ])ut pause to re- 
flect, you would see that it takes three to do that. 
Here is Adelia, my cousin, she has postponed her 
wedding for a year on account of caring for my 
child. But if you don't object. Miss Pitts we will 
talk this matter over later.’ said the editor with 
a smile. 

Miss Pitts met his glance but said nothing. 

"Silence gives consent,’ said ho, casting an in- 
quisitive glance at her. "Then I shall take it 
for granted that though this be our first meeting, 
that it shall not be our last.’ 

'*Yery well,” said Miss Pitts with a flush. 

After Adelia and the editor sped away, Adelia 
remarked : 

"It is an ill wind that blows no one any good. 
That storm was the means of our losing our way, 
and our losing the way was the means of bringing 
you and your correspondent together and — 

"And what?’ asked he. 

"We shall see later,’ said she. And she was 
right. 



PETER PRINGLE’S PLIGHT. 


(A BURLESQUE] 



"Did I ever write for a newspaper? you ask.’ 
said Peter Prindle to his inquisitive guest. "Indeed 

86 


I did, and got into the worst plight of my life. It 
was like this.’ began Peter. ‘‘One day in early 
summer as I was hoeing sqiiaslies in my field near 
tlK' road, wlio should come along but the editor of 
the “Squashville News,” and he said, “What line 
squaslies; what large corn; and fields so free from 
weeds. Really you may be classed among the pro- 
gressive farmers of today.’ 

“Yes,’" says I, “I Hatter myself I liave a right 
to claim a second place to none of them, sir,’ says 
I. “I was the first man in these diggings to paint 
a hog-rack; first to take prizes at tlie fairs on 
l)l()oded stock; first to dehorn cattle, and — ’ 

“And,” says he, smiling on me. “you are just 
the man.’ 

“Now,” says I, spunky-like, thinking him some 
sort o‘ green-goods man, ‘*1 ‘aint as green as Hook 
even if I do hoe green squashes.’ He laughed and 
said tliat lie was the editor, and he wanted me to 
write locals for the ‘News.’ “O!” says I, sort o‘ 
tickled and surprised. “I never did such a thing.’ 

“That‘s because you never tried,’ says he, “Now 
1 want you to try. I‘ll send you some stamps and 
stationary, and the Squashville News free.’ 

“Well, what sort o‘ stuff do you want?’ queried I 

“Oil, a little of everything — births, marriages, 
.'leaths, sickness, visitors, etc. Send in by day af- 
ter tomorrow. I‘ll send stamps later.’ says he, as 
he drove away, leaving me to meditate over my 
to-be-new calling. 

The following day 1 told my family of the new 
responsibility which had been pressed upon me, 
and asked them to fetch me pen, ink and paper. 
Oolly, our daughter, who had been away to school, 
liroiight me some fine, unruled paper and a paste- 
board with black stripes on it,, to put under the 
paper to go by, and her fountain per. 

‘VPashaw I Peter,’ says my wife, “what do you 
87 


know about writin’ for papers!’ 

That riled me, an’ says I, “I aint as big a dunce 
as you think. I spelled the whole school down when 
I was nine years old, an’ I made the best ‘pot- 
hook’ of any young-un in the school. Well! what 
first?’ says I, “births, I guess. Folks ha^e to be 
born before they can get married, go visting or 
die. Who has got a kid — anybody?’ says I. 

“Yes, Mrs. Matz has.’ says my wife. 

“A boy or a girl?’ says I. 

“Well, I don, t know; itdon‘tm'ike much differ- 
ence.’ said my wife demurely. 

“Well, I should say it did,’ says I, “It makes a 
lot of difference whether I am a man or a woman.’ 

“Well,” says she, “I think it‘s a boy. The oth- 
er seven of their kids are an‘ Mrs. Smith told me 
about it, an‘ if it had not been tlie same as the 
others she would have stopped to tell how pleased 
they were over the advent of a girl.’ 

“You are a logican,’ says I, as I jotted down, 

“Born unto Mr. and Mrs. Matz a son.’ 

“Anybody spliced?’ says I. 

“No.” says Bob, but Joe Dent and Minnie Deans 
is going to be soon for Henry Dent told me they 
were repairing the old house for a small family.’ 

“Well, its time they were spliced,’ says I, and 
I wrote down — 

“Dent‘s old house is being repaired. Wedding 
bell will soon ring.’ 

“Who‘s dead?’ querried I, straightening out my 
cramped fingers. “I tell you what, friend, it is 
enough sight harder to write than it is to hoe.’ 
Seeing what work I made of it Golly said — 

“Let me write for you, father.’ 

“Not much,’ says I, “I don‘t believe in doing 
things by proxy.’ 

“The lines look as crooked as the cow path to 
the spring,’ said Bob. 


‘^WVo is dead,’ says I again. 

“Mas^n‘s old rack-o-bones of a horse. I saw it 
lying by the road-side when 1 come liome from 
school,’ said Millie. 

‘‘Dead is says I, “It‘s a crying shame how 
Mason has tr^ted that horse. It is twenty years 
since he bought that horse. He was poor then but 
rich now' ’ He ike 1 wrote — 

“Our esteemed citizen, Mr. Mason, has lost his 
venerable horse, ol4 Jack. He will erect on the 
tablet of his memoryva monument to his faithful 
servant.’ 

“Now who is sick or Iken visiting?’ says I. 

“O! I know,’ says Tinu “Jim Strong caught 
cold last Sunday night seeiiV Tillle Tubbs home 
from church, and he ‘aint out yet.’ So my tired 
hand scribbed — x 

“Jim Strong took cold SundaV night going to 
church. Ain‘t strong yet.’ \ 

“And,” said Maud, “Bert BrowiiVcalled on Ol- 
ive Green and got some eggs to set \is Wooden 
Hen.’ So I wrote — \ 

“Mr. Browne called on Olive Green Wednesday,* 
“But,’ thought I, “that don‘t look nice, he be- 
ing: an old bach and she a spinster,’ so I aiWed — 
“On important business.’ 

“O! say,’ said Bob. Fay Wilder said his motV 
er was most crazy with toothache. Hence I put it,\ 
“Mrs. Wilder is most demented with toothache,* \ 
“Guess that will do.’ says I’ “No, it won‘t.’ 
says my Avife. “I think it is a saucy piece of bus- 
iness to publish other folk‘s aff airs and not your own 
“That‘s so.’ “I must put something in about 
myself, but what?’ says I. 

“You have been to town.’ says Bob. 

“I go often,’ says I. 

“But you went to see the new jail.’ says Bob, 
“Just so, I did.’ says I, and I wrote — 


“Mr. Peter Pringle, of Squash ville Holler, paid 
his respects to the new jail at Squash ville. He 
found it comfortable and safe.’ 

Just then somebody called and Mrs. Pringle and 
Oolly left the room. “I bn done,’ says I. 

“No.’ whispered Bob. Oolly went to see Mrs. 
Dunlap Tuesday. I scratched it down. 

“Put in something about ma, just to surprise 
her.’ says Maud. 

“What?’ says I. 

“Mr. Perkins came here Tuesday and ma Avent 
out with him, and she wouldn't tell us what lie 
AvaiUed.’ says Maud. I laughed as I Avrote — 

“Mr. Hiram Perkins caked on Mrs. Pringle on 
Tuesday. 

I jumped up as my wife returned and Colly’s 
fountain pen rolled od' on the floor and stood up. 

“Oh ! see,’ says Fob, “it points toAvard Dunlap‘s. 
Jim Avill be here tonight.’ 

Oh! my!’ say^ Avife, “the pen is ruined. It cost 
three dollars.’ 

I started out before Oolly returned. 8ure e- 
nough Jim came o\"er in the eA^ening, hence a 
storm Avas aA^erted. 

Well, the kids told the school children: and 
Oolly told Jim ; and my Avife told her chums that 
I Avriting for the NeAVs. Noav avIio ever kneAv 
a woman that could keep anything, even aliout 
Aer husband? Well, of course I told it myself, 
too, but that concerned myself, and nobody 
else. Everybody AA^as eager for the Squash- 
ville NeAVS, myself included, but it took the con- 
ceit all out of me. 

That kid of Matz's, turned out to be a girl in 
spile of logic ; and Mason's obi horse Avaid dead, 
but sleeping by the road. As for Jim Strong, he 
wasn't at church, but caught cold going home from 
the salooon, and Avhen his folks heard of the de- 
90 


ception, (as he told them he had been to church) 
a row ensued. Mrs. Wilder, who had recovered 
from the toothache and had quite forgotten slie 
had tlie attack, was quite surprised to read in the 
News that she was almost demented. It seems 
that the type-setter had forgot to add, “with the 
toothache.’ 

And my wife got up on her ear. “Why,’ says 
she, “that item in last week‘s News will generate 
war in the Perkins camp, for it was like this;Mrs. 
Perkins set a turkey, and, woman-like, told Mr. 
Perkins not to step in it, and that was the very 
thing he did do, Iweaking a part of the eggs. He 
came straiglit over here to get more eggs, and told 
me not to tell the cliildren, as they might tell his 
kids, and if his wife found it out he would never 
hear the last of it.’ And Oolly was mad, too. She 
said people would say that she went to see Jim. 
I put out believing ‘ones foes are those of his own 
household.’ I hitclied up and set out for town. 
The first man I met was Joe Dent. 

“See here!’ says he, “did you write that in the 
Squash Holler items?’ I nodded. “Well, your are 
left,’ says he, “that thing was broke off some time 
ago. But the house is undergoing repairs for rent- 
ers.’ I drove on, thinking “the end is not yet,’ 
and I found it true, for as I was passing Miss 
Green ‘a she came out with a horse-whip and lit on 
to me like a bat on a June bug. Fortunately my 
team lit out and the volley prepared for me spent 
itself in the air. When I got to town I dropped 
into Oolton‘s for something to revive my drooping 
spirits. “Here he comes,’ cried Wilder, “I‘ll 
show him who is crazy.’ 

He pitched into me, and I lay him gently on the 
lloor and held him there until he promised to be a 
good boy. You see lie is a tiny fellow and I didn‘t 
want to hurt him. He soon cooled oJff and want- 

91 


ed to treat me. 

Browne gave me a hug, being partially loaded, 
and declared that if Olive Green didn't turn 
Browne in the fall it would be no fault of his. 
Then the crowd began on me about my spelling in 
the News, as I had many times bragged how I 
could spell the whole town down. But that ten- 
derfoot of a typesetter, it seems could not read 
my out-o-date scrawl very well, so horse was spell- 
ed harse, and wedding was spelled wedding, and 
bells was balls, etc. And the folks I put in print 
acted as if they were otfended. Queer, ain't it? 
how folks like to have their names in the cold 
print. Those I did not mention felt slighted, and 
Esq. Boggs who always likes to figure publicly and 
whose name failed to get into the News, cried out 
"Hereafter whenever we want to know where 
Peter Pringle is, all we'll have to do will be to 
look in the News!’ 

That made me hotter than blazes, and I fired 
back, "When we want to find Esq. Boggs, all we 
have to do is to call at Colton's saloon.’ A roar 
of laughter followed as I made my exit. 

I called at the News office and there sat tlie editor 
as cool as a cucumber under an apple tree. I re- 
lated my perplexity and he smiled sadly as he 
said — "Think of me,’ says he, "I have to shoulder 
the whole business, while you only write, and your 
name not signed at that. One is condemned for 
every trifling error, and seldom gets credit for that 
which is perfect.’ I handed him a dollar, saying, 
"Editors are the inodern martyrs. Send me the 
Newk and I will advertise my squashes in its col- 
umns, if I have nothing else to advertise.’ 

Other papers picked it up, and they got it tliat 
"Peter Pringle was the first inmate of Squasliville 
jail.’ And last year when I run for County Clerk 
my being a jail-bird insured my defeat. 

92 


HOME AGAIN. 

“Clayton, Clayton,” called out tlie breaksinan 
as the train halted at a small railroad station. 
Several alighted and one was a fresh looking young 
lady. 

“Home again,’ said Hortense Haskel to herself, 
looking around. “No one to meet me. I expect- 
ed no one however, for I am bent on giving my 
dear father and mother a happy surprise, hence I 
did not write them that I was coming earlier than 
I expected.’ “They do not expect me until next 
month. Four years from home: no one seems to 
recognize me, and it is no wonder ; for a girl changes 
so much from the age of fourteen to eighteen year.’ 

Thus soloquized Hortense as she took her suit- 
case and made a bee-line for home, or at least as 
near so as the streets would permit. She raised 
her eyers as she neared home. 

“Yes,’ thought she, “all is pretty much the same 
as when 1 went away four years ago. The maple 
trees, the vines over the porch, and mother‘s bed 
of mixed geraniums.’ She mounted the steps rang 
the bell, and stood anxiously waiting, her eyes 
sparkling with expectancy. She listened then rang 
again. She heard a footfall on the stairs, then a 
soft tread on the carpet, and a face peered out, 
she could not discern whom, but a man's visage 
she thought. The door slowly opened and a voice 
said : 

“Good morning. Miss. An agent I believe. 
Well the Mistress is away from home, and I don't 
wish for anything.” He made a motion to close 

93 


the door, but she was toPquick for liim. 

‘'No, sir, I uiu not an agent; this is niy home. 
I am Hortense Haskel, and I have just arrived home 
after spending four years in the east.’ She enter- 
ed the house. He stood aghast. 

“Where are my parents,’ she demanded, “and 
pray whom are you sir?’ 

“Your people?’ he said stammering, “they went 
to the city, on the train tliis morning, and will 
not be back until ten this evening. As for me, 
ahem ! I'm — ’ 

“A visitor,’ liinted Hortense by the way of help- 
ing him out, believing liim to be a burglar, and 
meaning to detain and capture him. 

“Well, no; not exactly a visitor,” he said look- 
ing around as if planning to escape, “I'm a board- 
er.’ 

“A boarder,’ said she, looking hard at him, 
“father was always adverse to taking boarders, 
and mother always declared she would never do 
such a thing.’ 

“Circumstances alter cases, sometimes,’ said he 
with an abashed smile. 

She looked at him. He was tall, fine looking, 
and well dressed. 

“Beg pardon, Miss, if my iwesence annoys you, 
I intended to go away when you came home, and 
and I will go to the hotel at once.’ He turned 
saying, “I will take my grip, and leave my other 
possessions until tomorrow when your parents are 
at home.. Thus saying he went up stairs closing 
the door behind him. 

She stepped to the door locking it behind him 
thinking to keep him there until she could sum- 
mons help. She then stepped to the telephone, 
mng up central, and asked him to send officers, 
immediately, as she had a burglar locked in the 
house. In a short time an officer arrived, follow- 
94 


ed by a mob of men and women, who soon throng- 
ed the lionse and yard, and she explained tlie sit- 
uation in a few words; people began to smile and 
whisper, and whatever it might be that they were 
saying, traveled from one to another, until those 
outside ])egan to shout and clap their hands. 
Meantime the supposed burglar had descended the 
stairs, and was endeavoring to open the door. 

^Wait a moment and I‘ll unlock it’ said one of the 
neighbors. The door opened and the young man 
appeared with grip in hand, much surprised to 
see a house full of laughing people. 

Mrs. Dunn stepped up and said. 

'^Miss Haskel, permit me to introduce you to 
Kev. Woodward, i)astor of our church, whom your 
mother consented to board for the season as he has 
no housekeeper at present.’ 

Kev. Woodward extended his hand with a smile 
saying, '‘1 am delighted to meet you. Miss Has- 
kel.’ 

She confusedly gave him her hand. “Oh! par- 
don me please,’ she said, “I thought you were a 
burglar.’ 

He laughed outright. “Well,’ said he appear- 
ances were against me ITI admit, but I am glad 
you are disappointed.’ 

“I am happily disappointed’ she assured him, 
her hush growing deeper. “And now to prove that 
you forgive me, you must remain and not go to 
the hotel.’ declared Hortense. 

“Very well, I‘m at your service.’ said he. “ITI 
remain in my room and you may lock the door if 
you choose.’ 

“No, ’declared Hortense, “you must prepare the 
dinner and ITI play the roll as guest.’ 

“It is a bargain,’ agreed Kev. Woodward. 

There was a murmuring of voices, and one said 

“Is it possible that this is Hortense Haskel?’ 

95 


‘‘How you have changed.’ remarked another. 

“I should never have known you. Why you 
were in short dresses when you went East.' said a 
third. Various other remarks were made by the 
neighbors as they indulged in a hearty hand-shake 
all around. 

Hortense‘s home-coming and her burglar, made 
quite a little talk about the village, and when Mr. 
and Mrs. Haskel arrived home they were surpris- 
ed as well as pleased to see their daughter. 

When Kev. Woodward left his boarding place 
for the newly furnished parsonage, he had a house- 
keeper, as well as a companion ; for Hortense ac- 
companied him as his wife. 



Etta Elder’s Unknown Way. 

“A wreck! a wreck! a railroad wreck!' shouted 
Phil Stone as he drove by his neighbor‘s. Mrs. El- 
der appeared in the doorway, her face ghastly. 

“On which road?' she inquired. 

“The East Branch.' said Phil, surprised at her 
agitation. 

“O! My husband is on that train. Etta, Etta, 
O, Etta, come here quick.' she cried hysterically. 
Phil alighted, hitched his team, and on entering 
the house found Mrs. Elder in a swoon, and her 
daughter Etta bending over her. He asked, and 
she said, 


96 


‘‘Yes, we were expecting papa on that train/ 

“He may have missed the train, or if he is on it 
he may not be injured.’ said Phil. 

Mrs. Elder on reviving, heard PhiPs remark, and 
it bid her hope for the best. Phil drove back to 
the station to gain further information; but their 
worst fears were realized, Mr. Elder being fatally 
injured in tlie wreck. Mrs. Elder and Etta hasten- 
ed to him. They found him on a couch in a pri- 
vate house. An official had been summoned, and 
his property was being disposed of ; or, in other 
words, Mr. Elder was putting his house in order, 
for he had not many hours to live. Mrs. Elder 
swooned again and was carried into another room. 

Etta remained witli her father. He had just 
signed a paper, and after the official took liis de- 
parture, Mr. Elder informed Etta that he had sign- 
ed over all his property to her mother, during her 
lifetime; but at her death, all would be Etta‘s. 

“Now, Etta dear,’ said he, “you must be brave 
and live for your mother‘s sake. I know you were 
about to marry Bert Day; but for lier sake, you 
must give him up, and God will reward you for 
your self-denial and sacrifice. Now,’ requested he, 
“repeat the 28rd psalm.’ As she finished, he 
folded his hands, rolled his eyes heavenward, and 
murmured low and faltering, “Now I lay me down 
to sleep, I pray Thee, O, Lord my soul to — to — to 
take.’ One long sigh followed, and the invisible 
angel of light bore his spirit to the God that gave it. 

Three months passed, Mrs. Elder, a fair widow 
in her weeds, smiled again. And although she 
had taken her husband‘s death so hard at first, was 
really thinking of marrying again. Not so with 
Etta; her heart was very sad. She had given up 
her intended, and he had gone away, and in the 
latest paper she had read of his marriage. Her 
wedding dress was locked in her trunk. Her fath- 
97 


er‘s death, and the losing of his lover (though both 
were dear to her) was not as remorseful as the con- 
duct of her here-to-fore meek little mother. Yes, 
lier mother was a pretty woman, but that was not 
the only reason that she was sought after. All 
knew that she possessed much property. 

Scarce six months had passed since her father ‘s 
death, and now her mother had laid aside her 
weeds, and donned a purple robe, and had be- 
come the wife of a man ten years younger than 
herself, and eight years Etta‘s senior, and one of 
Etta‘s old beaus. 

Her mother told her that “her dear Guy did not 
want any spinsters around.’ The facts were, that 
her mother was jealous of Etta, knowing that he 
was Etta‘s rejected lover, and that he loved her 
daughter better than herself. 

As soon as her mother was married Etta began 
to pack her belongings. Her new father appeared 
grieved, and pleaded with her to remain, and they 
would be a happy trio ; and that he would never 
have married her mother if he had known that she 
would not have remained at home ; and that she 
had always been dear to him. 

Etta disdained all his pleadings, and with her 
few belongings set out for a cousin‘s home in an- 
other state. After arriving at her cousin's she ob- 
tained a position as housekeeper for a well-to do 
farmer by the name of Doolittle, who lived a few 
miles from her cousin's home. 

Mr. Doolittle was an elderly man, a widower, 
and quite deaf. He had one child, an invalid, a- 
bout thirty years of age, by the name of Urilla. 
He kept two hired men, but rarely had company, 
as he could not understand much that was said, 
and Urilla was too nervous to entertain company; 
besides they felt themselves above their neighbors. 

Mr. Doolittle amused himself with his farm, 
98 


stock and newspapers, and Urilla spent her time 
with fancy work, books, music and pets. Etta 
found her work not tedious, for Miss Doolittle 
took care of her own room, and one of the neigh- 
bors, Mrs. Jones, came once a week to wash and 
scrub. 

Mrs. Jones was communicative, and by no means 
an ignorant w'oman, and was all the associate Etta 
had. But for Mrs. Jones, life at the Doolittle‘s 
would have been unbearable. From her Etta learn- 
ed the names of the neighbors, and all the little 
incidents that toook place. 

“Why don‘t you go to church?’ asked Mrs. Jones 
one day, 

“Where is there a church?’ querried Etta. 

“Are you Oatliolic?’ asked Mrs. Jones. 

‘‘No.’ replied Etta. 

“We are,’ said Mrs. Jones, “and our church is 
at Devan, but tliere is a Presbyterian church a 
mile and a half from here, across the fields, but it 
is more than two miles by the road.’ 

“Well, I believe I will go some fine Sunday. It 
is so dull here witli no one to converse with.’ said 
Etta. 

For several Sundays Etta attended church, she 
was usually a little late so took a back seat ; and 
as soon as services closed she departed for home. 
Tims no one had a chance to speak to her, although 
most of the people soon learned who she was. 

Winter came, the snow was deep, hence she had 
to give up attending churcli. Mr. Doolittle kept 
but one liired man in the wintertime, and he was 
a foreigner, and could speak but little of the Eng- 
lisli language. And but for the company of Mrs. 
Jones, Etta would have been lonely indeed. 

It was sometime in January, the weather had 
been severe, and Mrs. Jones had not come for tAVo 
weeks, and Etta actually kissed her when she came 
99 


in the door. ‘‘As for the Avashing,’ said Etta, “I 
AA ould as soon do it as not, half of the time I have 
nothing to do ; but as Miss Doolittle says I need 
not do the heavy AA^ork, I let you come to do the 
AA'ash, just for the sake of seeing someone. I have 
time to read, and study, and practice my music, 
yet I am dying for some association Avitli human 
beings.’ 

“Noav, my dear,’ exclaimed Mrs. Jones, “I am 
going to have a birthday party, and I need some 
one to help, and I do believe I can persuade Miss 
Doolittle to let you come and spend the night 
Avith me.’ 

“That Avill be nice for you.’ said Etta, “and I 
Avill help you if Miss Doolittle Avill consent, pro- 
viding you Avill not introduce me to all present. 
You knoAV hoAV it is, I cannot go out in company, 
nor entertain company here, as that AA^ould dis- 
please the Doolittle‘s. They say they have dis- 
charged many girls for that same thing. I am get- 
ting such high Avages, and have so little to do, 
that I can afford to put up Avith some loneliness.’ 

Miss Doolittle consented, and Etta played the 
role of assistant at Mrs. Jones party. Although 
Mrs. Jones kept her Avord and did not introduce 
Etta to but feAv, yet somehoAv she Avas draAvn into 
their games. As the married folks Avere in one 
room, and the young people in another, they set 
out to participate in a feAV games, of Avhich Etta 
became a leading spirit. As the evening AA^ore on 
a game Av^as played Avhere forfeits Avere demanded, 
and after several had been collected, Etta Avas 
chosen judge. Noav as Etta AA^as opposed to kiss- 
ing she puzzled her brain over what fines to im- 
pose on them, minus the kiss, hence many laugh- 
able pranks were enacted, until her stock of fines, 
without the kiss was exhausted. 

“Hoav many more are there to pay?’ asked Etta. 

100 


“Only one.’ was the response. 

“Fine or superfine?’ asked she. 

“Fine.’ was the reply. 

For a moment Etta was perplexed. 

“Well, well,’ said she, “he may choose his part- 
ner, and — and — ’ 

“And what?’ asked one. 

“Well, get marrried,’ exclaimed Etta. 

A roar of laughter followed. 

“Hi, ho! Bernard, you have got to find a girl 
and get married, before you get your door-key 
back,’ said Rosalia. 

“You will have to sleep out of doors if you don‘t 
get married.’ said another. 

A well dressed young man arose, and coming 
forward asked Etta if she would be his partner. 
She made the plea that a judge was exempt from 
taxation. 

“You are no longer a judge,’ declared he, “your 
services in that line are past.’ 

On seeing that he was determined slie said — 
“Well, then, where is the parson?’ 

“That is for the lady to decide,’ declared Bern- 
ard. 

“O, yes, so it is,’ she said, then added, “No one 
blit Elder Slow-come shall marry us.’ 

“Well, he is in the next room. Go call him.’ 
said one. 

“Uncle Bill! Uncle Bill! you are wanted in 
here,’ said Ivan Homes. A tall, gaunt man en- 
tered the room. 

“What do you want of me?’ asked Bill Slocum. 

“That couple want to be married, can‘t you tie 
the knot? Miss Elder declares she woiTt have 
anyone else perform the ceremony. ’ said one. 

“Indeed I can,’ said Mr. Slocum approaching 
the couple. 

“You are not a real preacher, are you?’ querried 

101 


Etta. 

“No, I am not, but I can say the jargon, just 
the same.’ affirmed he. 

He asked them their names and ages, and then 
they joined hands, and after asking them a few 
questions, to which they responded in the affirma- 
tive, he pronounced them husband and wife. Then 
there arose a chorus of voices — 

“We must kiss the bride.’ But Bernard assert- 
ed that he should play the role of jealous husband 
and no one should be permitted to kiss his wife. 
A shout followed. They then said that they would 
serenade them. At this juncture l)ells were heard 
at the door. The new-comer proved to be Mr. 
Doolittle‘s hired man. It had begun to storm and 
Miss Doolittle had sent him with the team to bring 
Etta home, fearing the snow would be so deep she 
could not walk home in the morning. 

It was some ten days later that Mrs. Jones came 
to Mr. Doolittle‘s again. Etta welcomed her warm- 
ly as she had been very lonely since the party, and 
during the storm and cold wave that followed. At 
first Etta was so delighted to see Mrs. Jones that 
she did not notice her agitation. At length, on 
noticing her sober look, Etta asked for an expla- 
nation . 

“Well,’ said Mrs. Jones, “I may as well tell you 
first as last, for it is quite evident by your de- 
meanor, that you do not know the facts.’ 

“Yes, do tell me, Mrs. Jones,’ said Etta. 

“Please exert self control,’ said Mrs. Jones, “for 
what I have to relate may pain you severely.’ 

“Never mind,' said Etta, “Init tell me quick.’ 

“Well, you remember how you and a certain 
young man were married, in sport, the night of the 
party,’ said Mrs. Jones. 

“Well, yes I do.’ said Etta, ““But what of it.’ 

“Well, this much,’ said Mrs. Jones, “that Bill 
102 


Slocum is a Justice of the Peace, and the marriage 

BONI FIDE.’ 

“Impossible,’ declared Etta, “We had no mar- 
riage license, therefore could not be legally mar- 
ried.’ 

“No marriage license is required in this state,’ 
said Mrs. Jones, adding, “I presume you come 
from a state where a license is necessary for a le- 
gal marriage.’ 

“Indeed I did,’ said Etta, “and I naturally sup- 
posed it was a United States law. You see how 
ignorant I am. I guess I had better let Latin a- 
lone, and read the newspapers.’ 

“Well, you do not seem to be much grieved or 
delighted over being married, ’remarked Mrs. Jones 

“I do not think I need to fret regarding the mat- 
ter, for surely such a marriage can be readily set 
aside.’ affirmed Etta. 

“Perhaps, and perhaps not,’ said Mrs. Jones de- 
murely. 

“Well, who is this Bill Slocum? and why did he 
do such a thing? Surely he must have known we 
were in sport.’ said Etta. 

“This Bill Slocum is Mrs. Homes’ brother from 
Colorado,’ said Mrs. Jones, “He was here on a 
short visit; and no one, not even liis sister, knew 
at the time that he was an Esq. And too he be- 
lieved you were in earnest regarding getting mar- 
ried. He had an interview with Bernard before 
he took his departure, and Bernard had to pay 
liim the marriage fee. Esq. Slocum sent in the 
marriage to have it registered. I brought you the 
county newspaper so you can see your marriage in 
it, for I knowMr. Doolittle takes no local paper, 
and as he does not associate with his neighbors, 
he will not be apt to hear of your marriage until 
you see fit to inform him.’ 

“The Doolittle‘s will be no wiser at present 
103 


then,’ said Etta, adding, “Tell me about Bernard. 
What is his other name? I could not remember it.’ 

“Bless you, child, I cannot pronounce it cor- 
rectly, but it is something like Brokenover,’ said 
Mrs. Jones, “and’ continued she, “he seems to be 
a line young man, and is well educated, I think 
he said he was 26 years of age, and is the eldest 
of a large family. They moved into the neigh- 
borhood last summer, and are said to be wealthy.’ 

“But what are you going to do regarding the 
matter?’ inquired Mrs. Jones. 

“Nothing, nothing at all.’ said Etta. “He can 
get a divorce.’ 

“As you like ; but perhaps you miglitget a worse 
husband than Bernard.’ said Mrs. Jones. “I hear 
his people don‘t like the manner in which he was 
married. And, too people say he was engaged to 
Sadie Simon. She came with him to the party 
that night.’ 

“I am sorry to be instrumental in making trou- 
ble,’ said Etta. “Yet if Miss Simon cares for him, 
certainly she can wait until he secures a divorce.’ 

Mrs. Jones returned home before the arrival of 
the mail, hence when Etta received a letter, soon 
after, she was not there to learn its contents. On 
receiving the letter, Etta went to her room, open- 
ed it and read — 

My Dear Wife : 

You, no doubt, liave heard ere 
this, that our marriage on the evening of the par- 
ty, is legal, and perhaps you are much disturbed 
regarding the matter. I might have written soon- 
er, but father thought best to consult a lawyer re- 
garding the marriage, which he has done, and has 
learned that our marriage is legal, and cannot be 
set aside. Neither can a divorce be obtained, as 
there are no grounds for one. My i:)eople advise 
me to invite you here to live with us, as I have 
104 


no other home at present. 

I have met you some four times, and have ad- 
mire you since our first meeting, Avhich was at Mr. 
Doolittle’s threshing, last fall. Now, being stran- 
gers, perhaps you will not want to come here to 
live until we become better acquainted. If so, 
may I call on you, or will you go with me for a 
drive and we can talk matters over. Please re- 
spond soon. Bernard Brockenkover. 

The following day Etta sat down to pen a reply. 
First, she folded her hands and with closed eyes 
asked God‘s assistance. She was sure Bernard 
had been advised by his people, or perhaps a law- 
yer, to ask her to live with him, and if she refus- 
ed, it would be sufficient grounds for him to ob- 
tain a divorce. So with firm hand she wrote : 

Mr. Bernard Brockenkover, 

Dear Sir : 

Yours at hand, and in reply will say 
that I refuse to live with you or to have you call 
on me. Etta Elder. 

P. S. — I believe the above will be sufficient 
grounds for you to obtain a divorce, as I shall not 
appear against you, E. Elder. 

She neither saw nor heard from him again for 
some time. 

Mr. Jones was a carpenter by trade, hence rent- 
ed a house ; and now, having a better offer at an- 
other place, they moved away. Etta had all the 
work to do, which kept her busy. In May she de- 
cided to attend church, as she was very lonely. 
She was sure she should not meet the Brocken- 
kover s as they were Germans, and no doubt at- 
tended the Lutheran or Catholic church at Devon. 
She looked over her wardrobe taking out her to 
have been wedding dress ; she compared it with a 
recent fashion-plate. All the altering it required 
was a little change of the sleeves. The hat would 
105 


do by removing the orange blossoms, and putting 
chiffon in their place. It was just a year since 
her father died. 

Sunday came, it was a lovely May day. She 
donned her white silk dress, and hat, with gloves 
and parasol of white silk, her outfit was complete. 
She peered into the mirror, yes, she was lovely 
still. She sat out for church; she had about an 
eighth of a mile to go on the public highway, the 
remainder of her journey was across the fields. 
Just as she reached the gate, before entering the 
field, she was overtaken by a team, which stopped. 
A gentleman alighted, and in a pleasant voice 
asked her to ride. She looked up and beheld a 
three-seated carriage well filled. This she took in 
at a glance. 

“O! no, thank you,’ said Etta, “your carriage 
is full, besides I am going across the field to 
church . ’ 

“Tliat is precisely where we are going, but not 
across the field,’ said the gentleman. 

“It is a warm day, never walk when you can 
ride.’ 

“Come, Willie, there is room in this seat for 
you.’ said a woman in the carriage, and the small 
boy vacated his place on the front seat. 

Not knowing how to make another excuse Etta 
permitted the gentleman (evidently the head of 
the family) to assist lier into the carriage. He 
then took his seat beside her. Conversation fol- 
lowed. 

“I saw you at church several times last fall,’ 
observed the gentleman, “but you were always 
gone across the fields before we got started, lienc-e 
we had not the chance to proffer you a ride.’ 

“It was kind of you to think of a stranger among 
strangers,’ said Etta frankly. 

106 ‘ 


“Yonr name is Miss Elder, I believe,’ said he, 
“and you reside at Mr. Doolittle ‘s.’ 

“Yes.’ replied Etta. 

“I am informed that you are from the state of 
— ,’ said he, “are you any kin of Senator Elder of 
that state?’ 

“Yes, he was my father,’ said Etta. 

“Was.’ repeated he, “Is he dead?’ 

“Yes,’ she replied with a sigh, “and mother is 
married again, and I‘m — well, Ibn taking care of 
myself. I might teach a district school, but pre- 
fer domestic work to teaching, although some look 
down on house work ; but for my part, I consider 
home keeping woman‘s highest calling.’ 

“I say amen to that,’ came in a masculine voice 
from the back seat. A woman^s voice then said — 

“When mother first came to this country, that 
was in 1840, she worked out for 50 cents a week, 
and was not ashamed of it either.’ 

After a short pause in the conversation the gen- 
tleman asked — 

“Are you not the young lady that had the mis- 
fortune to be married in sport, last winter?’ 

“Yes,’ said she hesitatingly, “and I feel terri- 
bly regarding the matter, it being my own fault. 
If I had someone else to blame for the mishap my 
conscience would be more at ease. To think that 
my folly should cause others misery. I have been 
told that he was engaged to a fine young lady. Of 
course if she cares for him as she ought, she will 
wait until the law grants him a divorce.’ 

“He was not engaged ; and I have heard that 
there are no grounds for a divorce.’ said he. 

“But I believe he can secure one in a couple of 
years,’ said Etta. “He wrote me a very nice let- 
ter asking me to live with him, but of course I 
knew he did not wish it, and that if I refused to live 
with him, my letter in course of time, would be a 
107 


foundation on which he could secure a divorce. I 
have not heard from him since. I do not tliink 1 
would recognize him if I were to meet him, I do 
not know whether his eyes were black or blue. I 
think his hair was brown, and he had no mustache. 
His name was Bernard, but I will not attempt to 
pronounce his other name.’ 

“His name is pronounced Brokenkoover.’ said 
the lady. 

“Broken-cover,, repeated Etta. The children on 
the back seat giggled, and there was some whisp- 
ering. 

“He is a German,’ said Etta, adding “Is he a 
Lutherian or a Catholic?’ 

“Neither.’ was the reply. 

“I V as told that he was a tine young man, and 
his people figured as upper-crusts,’ said Etta. 
There was smothered laughter, but no reply was 
made for they were nearing the church. When 
they reached the church a young man with black 
mustache alighted from one of the seats, and as- 
sisted the family to alight. There Avas a middle 
aged woman. Wo boys, and a girl. 

“Come and set in our pew,’ said the Avoman in 
a pleasant Amice. Etta knoAving it AAmiild be im- 
polite to refuse Avalked in Avith the family. The 
man led the way up the aisle, his Avife and the 
little girl folloAving, Etta came next, and the 
young man and the younger boys followed. Ser- 
vices had not yet commenced, and after they Avere 
seated, Etta flushed on perceiving that their peAv 
AAms the center of attraction, and was glad Avhen 
the preacher arose and gave out a hymn. The 
young man (much to her annoyance) seemed to 
have a fixed smile on his face ; and it seemed to her 
she had met him before, yet she could not tell 
Avhen nor where. He proffered her the half of his 
hymn-book, which she accepted. When the ser- 
ies 


mon began she grew interested in the discourse, 
it was comforting and inspiring, and for the time 
being, she forgot the shadow that darkened her 
young life. 

‘^Oonie unto me all ye that labor and are heavy 
ladened, and I will give you rest.’ “And I will 
give you rest.’ the preaclies dwelt long upon, and 
when he pronounced the benediction her face was 
radiant. 

The young man left the pew and wended his 
way down the aisle, and out the church door after 
the team. Etta wished to slip out of tlie church, 
and across the fields for home, but the lady said — 

“You must ride home with us, there is plenty 
of room in our carriage. 

On their return trip Etta and the lady sat on the 
back seat ; facing them, on the middle seat, sat 
the young man, the little girl, and one of the lit- 
tle boys ; tlie other boy sat on the front seat be- 
side his father. Etta felt a trifle uncomfortable 
neath the searching glances of the young man^s 
eyes. Yet she was soon at ease, for all proved to 
be extremely communicative. The conversation 
drifted from one subject to another; the young 
man asked — “Miss Elder, have you any idea with 
whom you are riding?’ 

“No.’ said Etta innocently. 

“With the Broken-covers,’ said the young man, 
with a smile. 

She was shocked, and the children indulged in 
a low laugh. 

“Now,’ said he, “I am Bernard Brockenkover. 
To day you have heard my people call me Ben, as 
as they do at home. At that party my mustache 
was shaven off; but since, it has grown again, 
therefore you are excusable for not recognizing me.’ 
Then after a slight pause he continued, “There is 
something I wish to say to you, and iTl say it 
109 


here and now, as I may not have another chance. 
You misconstrued my letter. My object in writ- 
ing to you was not to obtain a fondation for a di- 
vorce, for I do not want one. But after receiving 
your response, 1 concluded you were eager for your 
freedom, and had resolved to release you as soon 
as the law would permit. But now, I assure you, 
I shall be in no hurry to carry out my plan.’ He 
looked at her to see if she took liis assertion kind- 
ly, and on perceiving her agitation and blushes, 
he continued, “May I call on you and get better 
acquainted? and perhaps — perhaps — we may live 
together sometime.’ 

Etta raised her eyes and met his glance frankly 
and replied — 

“I cannot receive company, as Miss Doolittle is 
opposed to hired girls having any.’ 

‘‘You are going home with us to take tea,’ de- 
clared Mrs. Brockenkover firmly. She will not 
dismiss you. She is to dependent on you for that.’ 

“I have never met Miss Doolittle,’ said Mr. 
Brockenkover, “but the neighbors say you have 
remained there the longest of any girl for years.’ 
addding, “I will stop at the gate and Willie can 
go in and tell her you will not be home until 8:00 
o‘clock. 

“O! I must not.’ said Etta. 

“Yes, you shall. You are not her slave.’ said 
he as he reined in the horses, and Willie, fleet of 
foot and tongue carried the message to headquar- 
ters. 

At their home Etta met a sister of Bernards‘s, 
and they soon became fast friends. Her visit was 
a pleasant one, ne‘er to be forgotten. And Etta‘s 
heart warmed toward the family, as well as toward 
Bernard. 

Miss Doolittle on learning the facts permitted 
Bernard, and the members of the family to cull 

110 


as often as they choose. In early autumn the 
Brockenkover family moved to the city, where 
the children could attend school. Bernard staid 
on the farm and Etta keeps house for him. 

On hearing of her old betrothed divorce from his 
wife, a few years later, she thanked God that she 
did not marry him. ‘‘Yes." said she, “Father was 
right after all, when he said that^if I would give up 
Bert Day, God would reward me. And He has, 
for I am happy with Bernard.’ 

Etta received a letter from her mother once a 
year. At first they were full of praises of her 
young husband. But her last letters were dismal 
ones, telling how her husband neglected her, even 
when she was ill, since he had learned that she 
only held a life lease of the property, and at her 
death, all would go to Etta. In her last letter she 
said she wished to leave him, and come and live 
with Etta, for she was ill and miserable. 

“Bernard.’ said Etta, “I will leave it to you to 
decide.’ 

Bernard looked serious, hesitated a moment, 
then said, “If she is a meek woman I consent.’ 

. “She always was of a quiet turn,’ said Etta. 

“Very well,’ said he, “let her come for awhile, 
at least. It may recruit her health. She is your 
mother, and it is your duty.’ 

Hence a letter, inviting her to come was written 
and posted, but she came not, for the Angel of 
Death had borne her way. 

The step-father vacated at once, and Etta and 
her small family took possession of her father ‘s 
property. 



Ill 


Laura Loften’s Ideal 



“Laura, dear, Tve called to say good bye;' said 
Leon Sandeson, 'I’ve secured a position in the city, 
no more dirty, farm work for me. Congratulate 
me, Laura, and when my salary is raised or I be- 
come junior partner in the firm, we will be mar- 
ried, then you won’t have to be a farmer’s drudge 
like your mother and sisters are.” 

“Oh, Leon! this is terrible; you will soon forget 
me and our engagement and marry some city lady. 
You will be ashamed of a country girl for a wife 
after you get used to those mincing city maids.” 

“Oh, Laura, how can you be so unreasonable, 
when it is for you own sake as well as my own 
that I am going; I’d marry you now and take you 
with me only that my wages will not be sufficient 
to maintain us both. I must make haste now to 
catch the train, so “good bye.” 

He took her hand, then kissed her, assuring her 
that he would write every week. She sighed as 
she watched him out of sight. “How handsome 
and winsome he is :’ she thought 'all the girls in 
town will be after him and he will forget all about 
me.” 

She received a letter the first week, also the 
second, which was much shorter than the first one, 
with an excuse that he w^as so busy that he did not 
have much time for writing. Two weeks more e- 
lapsed then another brief letter came. A month 
passed by, then a postal card came saying he was 
terrible busy, but was getting on, just the same, 

112 


A card a month was all she received after. In 
six months he wrote he would be home to spend 
Christmas. Christmas came, and so did Leon ; but, 
oh, how changed he was. He was handsome be- 
fore he went away, but he was doubly so now. His 
black ringlets had grown long, and lay like a crown 
of jet on his high brow, and his black eyes wore a 
more intellectual look. The tan had left his face, 
for an invory whiteness, with a slight pink flush on 
his cheeks and lips. His teeth was like pearls, and 
his hands were long, white, and as soft as velvet 
to the touch. He was reserved, and gave only the 
tips of his fingers for a handshake. He had no kiss 
for Laura now, barely a reserved smile, and his 
call was short and formal. He told Laura that she 
had changed, and she assured him that he had 
also changed for which he thanked her. 

“I must return tonight,’ he said, “although 
mother urges me to stay.’ He then took his de- 
parture without a word regarding their engagement 
Laura sat down and wept bitterly, feeling that she 
had lost him, but could not give him up. “He is 
my ideal,’ she cried, “and I know he loved me be- 
fore he went to the city, for he told people I was 
the liandsomest, and best girl that he had ever 
met and that his love for me could never be oblit- 
erated. He no longer cares for me, yet, I shall 
love him as long as I live.’ 

A few days later Laura received a letter from 
Leon, saying that as she had changed so, and still 
clung to her old-fashioned ways, he had ceased to 
care for her, hence he severed their engagement. 
Besides, he was engaged to his employers daugh- 
ter, and he expected after their marriage to be- 
come junior partner in the firm. 

“Just as I expected,’ said Laura flinging the let- 
ter into the stove ; she tlien went up stairs and 
collected all his letters, and little gifts, expect a 
113 


locket which contained his picture, and consigned 
them to the flames. She opened the locket and 
gazed on the false face with its smiling eyes, for a 
long time, then kissed it, and closed the locket and 
hid it in the bottom of her trunk. 

‘'Oh ! that I might forget him,’ she exclaimed, 
“but such love as mine can never die. A month 
later she read Leon's marriage in tlie paper. She 
only sighed and admitted to herself that she lov- 
ed him more than ever. ''He is the idol enshrin- 
ed in my heart, and although I should marry a 
wealthy, honest man he could never usurp my i- 
dol’s throne.’ As soon as the neighbors learned of 
Leon's marriage, they began to tease Laura; but 
she assumed indifference, saying that their engage- 
ment had been severed for some time, and that 
she was aware that he was going to marry a wealthy 
man's daughter, and they had her best wishes. 

Sim Sawyer, a farmer's son, who liad admired 
Laura from a child, proposed to her, and rejoiced 
on being accepted. His father gave liim a farm, 
and they began housekeeping in good style. They 
were blessed in basket and store, and children came 
to brighten, and gladden their large well furnish- 
ed eountry home, and Laura Avas so good and cheer- 
ful, that Sim never mistrusted that Leon still oc- 
cupied a veiled recess in her heart. 

Laura, who had been deemed the belle of the 
town, still remained comely. As for Sim, he had 
good clothes, but to some extent was careless re- 
garding his toilet; yet he never noticed Laura's 
eyes as she scanned him closely, comparing him in 
her mind to her former ideal witli his well made 
toilet, fine clothes, and soft Vvhite hands. She 
wished that Sim had been more like Leon, the 
idol that still presided in the hidden altar of her 
heart. 

Sixteen years had passed by, and she had heard 

114 


nothing of Leon. She had i^rown fleshier and ros- 
ier, and wore a contented smile. Why sliouldn’t 
she. She had the best of husband‘s, and her 
slightest wish was law. Yet at times when she 
was alone she would bring forth Leoids picture, 
take a long took at it, and say mournfully, “What 
might have been, can never be.’ While alone, and 
tlius engaged one day, tlie door bell rang, as if all 
posssed. She hurried down stairs, and on opening 
the door, she Avas confronted by a tall, white shag- 
gy-haired man, Avith a black and Avhite stub beard 
of several Aveeks groAvfch ; tobacco juice liad run 
doAvn each corner of liis half toothless mouth, and 
froze on, discoloring his beard; he had dark AA'at- 
ery eyes, a very red nose, an old cap, and a ragged 
overcoat Avith half the buttons off, half concealing 
Ids portly figure. A ragged pair of mittens, and 
a pair of OA^ershoes that were much the Avorse for 
AA^ear, make up his outfit. He shivered Avith cold, 
and Laura invited him to get Avarm. He accepted 
politely, thanking her for the privilege, saying he 
Avas very cold, not being used to the country. He 
took the proffered seat by the stove, removed his 
ragged mittens, and rubbed his grinimy hands ov- 
er the stove, Avhile he looked at her and smiled fa- 
miliarly. 

Laura stared in astonishment. She kneAV slie 
had met the untidy felloAV someAvhere, yet for the 
life of her she could not place him. 

“I am selling a fancy brand of soap,’ he said, 
still smiling; “also a face poAvder, such as the la- 
dies in the cities use, that makes them look beau- 
tiful, ancf they don't groAv old like farmers’ Avives 
do. I can but smile to see hoAV you have changed 
Laura, but this poAvder Avill make you look young 
•again. You used to have a complexion like a 
peach. Begobs! You AA'as the prettiest girl in 

115 


the county when we were engaged. Ha-Ha? Don‘t 
you remember Leon!, 

“Are you Leon?" querried Laura. “No indeed, 
I should never have recognized you. I think you 
had better use some of your own medicine.’ said 
she disgusted. And was this the idol that she 
worshiped in her heart? she asked herself, she 
then compared him, mentally, with her husband. 
Sim she confessed was a gentleman beside of him. 

“How is it, that you are reduced to peddling 
soap?, she inquired. 

‘^Oh? its that doggoned father-in-law of mine. 
His daughter and I were married secretely. and as 
soon as he found out that I was his son-in-law, he 
turned me off, and I had to support my wife the 
best I could ; and she did not know tlie first thing 
about housework. I labored hard, but it was no use. 
She pined, and whined, because I couldn,t furnish 
her with as nice things as she had been used to 
having, finally we quarreled, and she left me ; but 
I didn^t care a cuss. I should have written to you, 
but I saw your marriage in the paper. I was so 
surprised that you should marry Sim Sawyer. I 
knew you didn‘t love him, but I expect it was be- 
cause you did‘t want to be an old maid, but I know 
you loved me, and I‘ll bet you do yet, only you are 
to proud to admit it .Oh there comes Sim, how rus- 
ty these old plow joggers look.’ 

“He needs some of your soap.’ suggested Laura. 
As her husband came in she looked at him and 
gave him a wink. 

Leon smiled and said. “Doi/t you know me, 
Sim? We were rivals once, you know.’ and Leon 
laughed loudly at his own joke. 

“It is Leon Sanderson, Simeon.’ said Laura. 

“Leon Sanderson?’ repeated Sim. “I‘m sur- 
prised. How did you get to the foot of the lad- 
der? I heard you marriqd at the top.’ 

116 


“That doggoned father-in-law of mine kicked 
me down, and out; and I‘ve had a tough row of it. 
Yet I have not had to dig in the dirt, and milk 
cows like you hay-seeds do. The world owes me 
a living and I've had that. Say, Sim, can you 
keep me over niglit? If you will I'll give you a box 
of face powder that will make your wife look young 
again.’ 

“Go to the dogs with your face polish.’ said Sim. 
“You can remain over night, have supper, and 
breakfast, if you will chop wood two hours, and 
help me milk ten cows, turn the seperator, clean 
and bed ten horses, and feed fifty hogs. — ’ 

“Hold, hold !’ cried Leon aghast. “I'm above 
slavery. I'd rather sleep in a hay-mow. Why 
don't you keep a hired man Sim, and rest on your 
acres?’ 

“I have one,’ replied Sim, “but he is away on a 
vacation.’ 

“And I'm on mine.’ said Leon rising and mak- 
ing his exit witliout saying good-by. 

Sim and Laura exchanged glances, and then Sim 
said. “If tliat don't beat anything. I predicted 
that bright, handsome Leon would climb to tlie 
top, and I never doubted but what he had.’ 

“Wonders will never cease.’ said Laura. 

Wlien Sim went to do the chores, and before tlie 
children came from school, Laura took the picture 
from the locket and burned it in the stove. She 
then put a picture of her daughter in the golden 
locket and sent it to a namesake niece for a birth- 
day present. And the ideal idol, was obliterated 
from her heart forever, and Sim grew to be her 
ideal of a man, although he was plain, both in 
dress and looks. 

In less than a year, they read of Leon Sander- 
son's death by accident, while crossing the rail- 
road track in an intoxicated condition. 

117 


THE LITTLE TRAVELER. 


‘‘Here! make room for a little fellow, ’ said the 
conductor in a commanding voice, yet a tender 
look beamed in liis honest eyes. It was at St. Paul 
where many from the west changed cars. A trav- 
eling man who had been thus addressed removed 
his packages from the seat, and assisted the little 
lone traveler to the seat beside him. 

“He is my charge.’ explained the conductor. 
“He is from Montana and recently orphaned ; he is 
going to Michigan. Be kind to him please,’ said 
the conductor as he hastened to another coach on 
business. 

Floyd Bailey looked down at the little fellow at 
his side, who in turn raised his innocent blue eyes 
to meet his glance. His yellow curls hung to his 
shoulders neath his blue jaunty cap; his blue 
jacket with gilt buttons, blue pants, and white 
waist with blue tie, became well his delicate com- 
plexion. As Mr. Bailey ‘s black eyes scanned the 
little fellow from head to the tips of liis shiny 
shoes, his lips began to quiver, his di milled chin 
trembled, and two great tears rolled down his 
plump little cheeks. 

“Well, well, little man, there doiTt cry. Are 
you tired! Won‘t you sit on my lap? I am very 
fond of little boys, I was a little boy once.’ assert- 
ed Mr. Bailey. 

The child permitted him to lift him upon Iiis 

118 


knee ; he then rested his curly head upon his shoul- 
der. 

“I will take oil* your cap, then you can rest bet- 
ter.’ said Mr. Bailey. 

“Thank you,’ said the child. 

“Who taught you to say that?’ querried Mr.Bail- 
ey.^ 

“My mannna,’ replied the child, his chin again 
quivering. 

Mr. Bailey thinking it best not to refer to the 
departed, said, “Do you feel sleepy? Perhaps you 
can go to sleep, then you will feel better.’ 

“No, I doiPt want to go to sleep,’ said the child 
with a frightened look. “My mamma went to 
sleep, and they i)ut her in a box, and put her a- 
way down in a hole in the ground, and covered her 
up with dirt.’ 

The little fellow^s frame shook with emotion, 
and he sobbed out his grief on the traveling man‘s 
shoulder. As his grief subsided, the child fell 
asleep. “God giveth his beloved sleep.’ As he 
slept Mr. Bailey examined the tag on the child‘s 
jacket. It read, “Stranger be kind to the little 
lone traveler. His father was killed in an explo- 
sion, and soon after his mother died from grief, 
leaving the lad alone in the west. He is on Iiis 
way to his grandmother, Mrs. Cordelia Lampman, 
of St. Joseph, Michigan. The child‘s name is Har- 
ry Humphery.’ 

“Oil! Lord. Is this Marcia Lampman‘s child? 
On ! God, forgive me, I swore I would have my re- 
venge when Dick Humphery stole Marcia from me. 
She loved me until she met him, the handsome, 
fickle fellow. O! the anguish that wrung my heart 
when she gave me back the ring saying, that she 
loved someone else, hence could not be untrue to 
her own heart. Oh ! how I plead, but she was firm ; 
then I threatened to do something desperate. She 
119 


wept, and begged me to forgive and forget them. 
And thus we parted. She with tears in her blue 
eyes, and me with curses on my lips. They went 
west, and I have never heard of them until now. 
I‘ve tried to forget, but forgivness has been far 
from me. Now they have both passed beyond tliis 
vale of tears, I must, I will forgive them. It was 
my fault in the beginning for I invited Dick Hum- 
phery, who was my room-mate at college, to visit 
me, and I introduced him to Marcia without tell- 
ing him of our engagement. Dick was a great flirt 
and a favorite among the ladies, but never cared 
seriously for any girl. It was always the new girl 
that pleased him best, and the girls soon grew 
tired of him, as he did of them. Therefore I feared 
no rival in him until it was to late, and this is the 
end of it all.’ Thus mused Mr. Bailey as the child 
slept innocently on his bosom, his little heart 
beating against his own. 

Mr. Bailey took charge of the child, traveling 
with it to its destination, the Lampman homestead. 
At the depot, he learned that the child‘s grand- 
mother had been interred that morning. She was 
in poor health, and the shock of her daughfcer‘s 
death had shortened her life. Evelyn, a younger 
sister of Marcia‘s was the last survivor of the fam- 
ily except little Harry. 

Evelyn, clad in mourning, met Mr. Bailey and 
his little charge. 

“Oil! Mr. Bailey,’ she cried, a light of joy o‘er 
spreading her face, “I am so glad to see you. You 
have changed some in seven years.’ 

“So have you,’ retorted Mr. Bailey. “You was 
a little girl, a school-girl then, but now you are a 
woman, and much like Marcia was at your age.’ 

“And this is little Harry. Won‘t you come to 
Aunty, Harry!’ 

“I want my mamma.’ said the child sobbing. 

120 


“I‘ll be your mamma,* said Evelyn soothingly. 

“My very own mamma? asked the child his face 
lighting with a smile. 

“Yes,’ said Evelyn, kissing him. 

“And will you be my papa!’ he asked innocent- 
ly of Mr. Bailey. 

Mr. Bailey looked surprised, as the little fellow 
looked at him awaiting an answer. His chin be- 
gan to quiver, and he said, “I want a papa, too.’ 

Evelyn gave Mr. Bailey a wink, as much as to 
say. “Hay yes to pacify the child.’ She then took 
little four year old Harry up in her arms, and Mr. 
Bailey said, “Yes, I‘ll be your dad, little man.* 

Harry reached out one chubby arm, and encir- 
cled Mr. Bailey^s neck, and his other arm around 
Evelyn's, he drew their heads together saying with 
a childisli laugh. “Now my papa and my mamma 
kiss me.' And Harry got two kisses before he re- 
leased his new parents. 

The Lampman homestead was rented for a year ; 
and after seeing Evelyn and little Harry settled 
in rooms in St. Joseph, Mr. Bailey traveled on; 
but returned a year later. And now we find Mr. 
Floyd Bailey and his wife Evelyn, and their adopt- 
ed son Harry, residing at the old homestead. 

Evelyn, who had much adored her prospective 
brother-in-law years before, and had shed many a 
tear because her sister rejected him, was now hap- 
py as his wife, and proving a faithful motlier to 
her sister's child. 

As for Floyd Bailey, he found in Evelyn all that 
he had loved in Marcia, He has forgiven the past 
and respects their memory. 



121 


THE SILLY GIRL 



“Barbary Babcock is dead.’ Thus one neighbor 
in the rural district of Stinson Valley, related the 
news to their next neighbor. 

“Gone at last, eh? Well she has seen enough 
of this world. Ninety years is a long time to ex- 
ist liere. But what will become of Caroline, her 
great-grand daughter, who resided with her since 
her birth !’ 

“Oh! she is going to live with her aunt in the 
village of Keno. Poor child. Caroline is fourteen 
years old, and large of her age, and briglit in her 
books, music and housework ; but she has been 
treated like a child of five summer. She never 
went out without asking her grand-mother, and 
was never allowed to talk, or play games with the 
boys, like other girls do.’ 

“Well, well. It is to be hoped that her aunt 
will have some sense, and treat her as other girls 
of her age of today, are treated.’ remarked a 
neighbor. 

The funeral was held at the country church, and 
the remains of tlie old lady was laid beside her 
husband in the old pioneer burial ground, and Car- 
oline went home witli lier childless great aunt, a 
widow in her seventieth year, to reside in the vil- 
lage and attend high school, as she had re- 
ceived her diploma from the district school. 

Her aunt was slightly deaf, and somowhat of an 
invalid ; hence Caroline was left to use her own 
122 


judgment, in matters pertaining to herself, andti. 
her dress, and poor Caroline, never having had a 
penny to spend as she pleased before, and never 
having bought herself a dress, was at loss to know 
what to get. But the maid of all work, some years 
Caroline's senior, proffered her assistance, and was 
accepted. 

Anna Noble, the maid of all work, came to have 
much iiiliueiice over poor weak Caroline, who had 
been kept under until she had no force of charac- 
ter. 

"Didn't you ever have a beau?’ asked Anna No- 
ble of Caroline one day. 

"Why, no. Grandma wouldn't allow such a 
thing. Girls didn't play with the boys when she 
was young she said.’ replied Caroline. 

"Ha! ha!’ laughed Anna. "Here you are four- 
teen years old, and as large as most girls at eigh- 
teen. And now you can dress as fine and gay as you 
please; I'll help you choose them. Why! I had 
an offer of marriage Avlien I was but fifteen, and 
at sixteen I had two offers. Now I've got three 
new strings to my bow. I don't know which I'll 
take. If I was as pretty as you are, and could 
dress as fine as you can, and you will likely inher- 
it both your grandmother's and your aunt's pro- 
perty's, too. Why, I'd go in and catch Judge Nor- 
ton's son, Roy. He is as pretty as a picture, and 
an only son, and is attending high school. Any of 
the girls would be glad to get him. All you will 
have to do is to dress nice so as to look sweet and 
winsome, and in school keep one eye on your books 
and the other on him, and when you catch him 
looking at you, just smile sweetly. A smile will 
capture most any fellow in the course of time., 
Caroline listened to Anna's council and also 
read trashy love stories that Anna furnished her 
with, until she imagined herself in lovelwith Roy. 

123 


And, alas? poor simpleton, she became the derision 
of the school. Such conduct on the part of a new 
pupil was noticed, commented on, and ridiculed. 
Poor Koy was almost wild through the teasing of 
his school mates. Where he sat he could not raise 
his eyes without seeing Caroline ; and her glance 
would meet his with a broad smile, and sometimes 
a wink, which even the professor noticed, and poor 
Roy flushed to the roots of his hair. In the school 
room or on the play grounds, in the street, or at 
church, she managed to be near him, with her 
eyes ever upon him, and a smile forthcoming, un- 
til the scholars called her, his shadow. She rare- 
ly spoke to him, and he avoided her as much as 
possible. 

At last after a torture of six months, he called 
at her home and asked to see her. She smiled as 
the maid ushered him into the parlor, thinking 
she had made an impression on him at last, as 
girls do in novels. But imagine her surprise, 
and feelings, on learning her mistake. 

‘‘Miss Croton,’ began he, “I‘ve a bone to pick 
with you.’ And then he told her just what he 
thought of her conduct. That she was not only 
ruining herself, but him also, in the eyes of the 
school, and the people of the village, and she must 
behave herself or she would have to leave the 
town, or he should. And as she began to weep he 
felt a mite of pity for her, and he said : 

“Now see here, Caroline. I don‘t believe you 
are altogether a fool. Your standings are better 
than mine, and I am four years your senior; but 
your behavior is shocking. For God‘s sake, and 
mine, and your own, try and be a lady. You 
have the making of a Avoman in you, Avhy belittle 
yourself by such silly demeanor.” 

“Oh, Roy ! oh ! but I loved you, and did not 
know any better’ Anna told me to.’ 

124 


“Goodness!’ cried Roy, hurrying away, “how 
will this end?’ 

But he did not have long to wait, for that night 
Caroline's great aunt passed away, leaving her 
long hoarded fortune to Caroline. 

A guardian, and a governess was appointed for 
Charoline, and she was taken away to an eastern 
city, and Roy saw and heard no more of her for 
many years. 

Roy became pastor of a city church, and some 
fifteen years later, he was sent as delegate to a 
church convention and was much surprised to 
there meet Caroline as the wife of one of the most 
famous ministers of the eastern cities. She rec- 
ognized him at once, and all unconscious gave him 
a smile, which was the means of his recognizing 
her. 

She Avas a handsome, dignified lady, and later 
thanked him for his advice, and told him of her 
bitter childhood, and that she had no one to tell 
her better, until he dared to do so. And his lect- 
ure had been the means of making a lady of her. 



Versus 





“Earl Deniston, do you think of marrying that 
sweet little flirt. Pearl Potter?’ “Now, mother, 
that is a square question, and one which I am not 
prepared to answer. It is like this, — A poor man 


12S 


like me is hardly the one Miss Potter would be 
likely to wed. Hence I hesitate to make Iier a 
proposal,’ said Earl. “Law sake s! ‘What we do 
hear for the sake of a pair of ears.’ Just as though 
a Deniston was not as good as a Potter, What are 
the Potters anyway?’ asked Mrs. Deniston. 

“Mr. Potter is probate judge ; and Pearl is a 
cultured young lady. Although her people are 
not wealthy. Pearl is popular in the city. No 
doubt her plotting step-mother intends to marry 
her to money and position. However her father 
treats me with respect, and Pearl and I have 
always been the best of friends, yes, even when 
we attended the district school together,’ said 
Earl, adding, “I have never ventured to tell her — ’ 
“You are foolish if you do,’ retorted his mother. 
“What good would she be to you? I dont suppose 
she can make a loaf of bread. She‘s poor and 
you‘d never get a cent. Now there is Abba And- 
rews — good looking, and smart as a wliip. Her 
father left her $2,000, and she has not spent a 
cent of it. She teaches school, and does her sew- 
ing evenings and Saturdays. She can do all kinds 
of work, both out-of-doors and in. And she‘d have 
you for the asking, any day. Besides it is neces- 
sary for you to marry some one like Abba, that has 
money to pay the mortgage off the farm, and one 
that can work, for there is lots to do, and 1 am not 
able to do much work. Abba likes me, and she 
is strong, and can milk cows, quite unlike that 
little white thing of a Pearl.’ 

“O! Mother, don‘t, you make me tired. Your 
theory is Cold Reason Versus Love,’ cried Earl, 
“Just wait, mother, until my brain gets cooled oli , 
and then my judgement will be of a more solid 
nature. Let me rest.’ Aud he stretched his tall 
figure on the lounge, slept, and dreamed. 


It was sunset, Earl stood on the brow of the hill 

126 


back of the house, Pearl, clad in spotless white, 
stood beside him, her golden hair was combed 
back from her high marble forehead. Her blue 
eyes had a wistful look in them as she watched 
the slanting sunbeams. 

“So you return to the city tomorrow?’ Earl ask- 
ed in a sad tone. 

“Yes, on an early train. Some of mamma‘s 
friends that have been traveling in Europe will pay 
us a visit soon, and mamma is very anxious to have 
me meet them.’ said Pearl. 

“Whom may tliey be? May I ask?’ said he. 

“Mammals cousins. Some are very wealthy.’ 
said she flushing. 

“And that mamma wishes you to marry 

hinted Earl. 

“I fear so, but — but what of it if I do?’ she ask- 
ed, dropping her eyes. 

“Because it will kill me to lose you.’ he said. 
She turned her face from him and was silent. A 
sob shook her frame. He clasped her in his arms, 
A moment of bliss, as they plighted their trotli. 

The train bore her away on the morrow. He in- 
formed his mother of their engagement. She was 
very angry, and told Abby all. She remained si- 
lent yet often came to help liis mother. He saw 
her grow paler day by day, and it troubled him, 
knowing he was the cause. 

At first Pearrs letters came frequent and were 
full of sweetness. Then the the intervals between 
became lengthier. At last a letter came stating 
that she had changed her mind, and was soon to 
wed a millionaire, and go to Europe. 

This assertion disheartened him, He told his 
mother, who informed Abba. Abba brightened. 

At first Earl thought of suicide, then he.decid'- 
ed to go west; but before he couid carry out his 
intentions, his mother fell and injured herself so 
127 


badly that she would be a cripple the remainder 
of her life; hence he could not leave her. 

Abba came and cared for his mother and done 
the housework. Finally she gave up lier school 
saying ‘‘I will not let a neighbor suffer for the 
want of help, just for the sake of a few dollars.’ 

As weeks rolled into months Cold Keason began 
to assert itself. “Why not marry Abba? he 
would not have to pay her wages then, besides if 
lie did not raise the money soon the mortgage 
would be foreclosed.^ Yet he hesitated to pro- 
pose to Abba, thinking she must know about his 
love affair with Pearl. He mentioned tlie facts 
to his mother, she assured liiin that she was posi- 
tive Abba would accept him, as she was no senti- 
mental girl, but believed in Cold Reason. 

It was a cold day in winter-time, Earl was shov- 
eling snow, making a path from the house to the 
poultry house. Abba came to him with a bowl of 
hot coffee. If there was one thing that Abba 
could do better than another it was to make cof- 
fee. She smiled while he sipped it. She spoke 
of the fowls, and said she had gathered a dozen 
eggs the day previous, and that she thought there 
was no place like the farm. “Would you like to 
live here always, Abba?’ he asked. 

“Indeed, I should,’ slie replied. 

“Would you be willing to marry me, knowing 
all about me, and my love for Pearl?’ he asked. 

“I care nothing for your little flirtation with 
lier. She has forgotten you long ere this, and if 
you give her a passing thought, it will not hurt 
her, nor me neither, as long as you do not harp a- 
bout her,’ said Abba. 

“I assure you Pll never do that,’ said he. 

“Well, then, it is a bargain,’ said she, and she 
placed her arms about his neck and kissed him. 
Somehow it filled his soul with loathing for her. 

128 


Yet he was engaj^ed, and must marry her, and mar- 
ry her he did, and his mother said — 

‘‘I thank God that my son has listened to the 
dictates of reason.’ 

When the imn tgage question was broached, Ab- 
ba said — tcdl you just what I‘ll do, I‘ll pay 
that mortgage it you will deed me the farm, I 
will also care for your mother the remainder of her 
days.’ 

They endeavored to persuade her to accept one- 
half of the farm as her legal share, but she said — 
“No, all or none.’ Then he said he would sell the 
place. “No,’ slie retorted, “you can‘t do that un- 
less I sign the deed, for I made sure the farm was 
in your name before I married you.’ 

Being caught in a trap, Earl grew submissive. 
His mother said “Really it will make no differ- 
ence.’ But both were deceived in Abba. As time 
went by contentions arose between Ahh^ and his 
mother, for Ab))a had a firey temper. Earl spent 
much time in the barn when not working in the 
field, for what was home, with a scolding wife 
whose heart was like ice? Time wore on. His 
scolding wife and disobedient children rendered 
life almost unbearable, and yet he bore it for Iiis 
mother^s sake ; for, well he knew, that if he left, 
Abl)a would consign his mother to the poor-house. 

Duty, without love to brighten the path, is a 
frozen, narrow road, all up hill. Such a patli Earl 
trod for tliirty years. Meantime his mother ha<l 
died. His children had been educated, and gone 
for themselves, Abba looked well and still shone in 
society. Earl was badly crippled with rheumatism. 
Abba had taught the children to disrespect him. 
The farm was sold for mortgage, and now the day 
had come that they must leave the old homestead. 

“I shall live with our eldest daughter, in the 
city,’ said Abba, “but she don't want cripples. 

129 


The place for such as you, is the poor-house.’ 

“01 Abba, dou‘t be so cruel,’ plead he, “I have 
worked hard for you and the children.’ 

“Bah ! I should think you had. I saved the farm 
once, with my money, and then you could not keep 
the debts olf from it. You never did amount to any- 
thing, and it was because you loved that llirt. 8o 
go to your reward. They are coming now, to take 
you to the poor-house. ’ said Abba coldly, and slie 
turned to her packing. Earl began to cry. 

“What is the matter. Wake him quickly, for 
he is in a nightmare.’ said a sweet voice. 

Earl rose to a sitting posture on the lounge, 
where he had been asleep. He rubbed his eyes. 
Yes, there stood his mother — still in the flesh, well 
and sound. And Pearl, who evidently had just 
called, stood near her with a smile on her sweet 
face. 

“Thank God! It was only a dream,’ he ejaculat- 
ed, “I am still young, and it is not too late to 
choose Love.’ At this juncture Abba entered. A 
frown settled on her face when she perceived the 
look of admiraton that Earl cast on Pearl. Later 
Earl accompanied by Pearl, went to the brow of the 
the hill to watch the sunset. A few moments they 
stood gazing at the glowing sky, then Earl broke 
the silence by saying — 

“Miss Potter, I hear you are to leave us soon.’ 

“Yes, tomorrow,’ she said with a sigh, as she 
turned her face to the west. 

“And you are to have company from a distance.’ 
said he. 

“Yes, and I must return to help entertain them.’ 
she said, slowly and sadly, 

“I have heard it rumored that you are to marry 
130 


a wealthy man. Tell me, Pearl, is it true? I have 
no secrets from you.’ said Earl. 

“You say you have had no secrets from me,’ 
said Pearl. ''H )\v can you say that? Abba gave 
me to undersrairl that you and she are engaged.’ 

“I say is all false. No engagement exists be- 
tween Abba and 1, jior never has, and more — there 
never shall.’ declared Earl. 

“Nor am I engaged to this wealthy man, nor do I 
wish to be, but mamma insists upon it. What am 
I to do!’ asked Pearl in an earnest tone. 

“Marry me,’ said Earl, “I love you dearly. Pearl, 
and have for many years; yes, I have loved you 
since we attended school together in childhood 
days. Be my wife, and though we may be poor, 
yet with love to brighten our pathway, we shall 
succeed., 

“If I go home asserting I am engaged, they will 
exert their utmsot to sever the engagement,’ said 
she. 

“Then go as my wife.’ he said fondly. “Let us 
be married this evening, yes now. It is but a 
short walk to the parsonage. Will you?’ 

She smiled and accepted his arm. Rev. Bow- 
man who had known them from childhood, greet- 
ed them with pleasure, saying — 

“I ever predicted that marriage would be the 
terminus of your early friendship.’ After the mar- 
riage ceremony they remained to tea, wishing to 
avoid, as long as possible, his mother’s displeasure ; 
but much to their surprise, she greeted her new 
daughter with unconcealed aftection, saying — 

“Pearl, my dear, if you are my son^s choice, you 
are mine.’ Later she said,-“Our farm is mortgag- 
ed, for my husband was ill so many years, but we 
shall manage.. 

And so they did. Pearl proved to be a sweet- 
tempered wife and helpmate, and she knew how 

131 


to work. In a few years the mortgage was paid. 

Mrs. Deniston still lives with Earl and Pearl ; 
and they are known throughout the neighborhood 
as “The Happy Family.” 


HUGO, THE HERMIT. 


“What is the matter my fair Lily bell?’ asked 
Mrs. Warren of her daughter, who had entered the 
house like a cyclone, much to Mrs. Warren‘s sur- 
prise, for Lily bell was usually a quiet girl. 

“Matter enough, mother. It is all over be- 
tween Roscoe Kirkland and myself,’ said Lilybell, 
“He states that he has resigned his position of 
Professor in Mathematics at the Academy and will 
attend the Theological Seminary, then later preach 
the gospel. He states he has had a distinct call 
from God to i^reach the Cross of Jesus Christ, ev- 
en if by so doing he has to sacrifice all that is dear 
to him. And he further states that I am the dear- 
est of earth to him — God only he loves more. And 
I told him if he became a preacher, our engage- 
ment was severed, for I would never be a minis- 
ter's wife, and grovel in poverty all my days. He 
plead but remained obstinate, so I gave him back 
his ring and bade him farewell. And now I shall 
a(!cept Aunt Susan‘s invitation to visit her in fair 
Wisconsin.’ 

Her meek little mother sighed and said nothing, 
while haughty Lilybell packed her trunk, and in 
132 


less than twenty-four hours was on the train leav- 
ing Detroit, and all its fond memories behind. 

Now, her intention was to banish Roscoe Kirk- 
land from her memory. She strove to occupy her 
mind by watching the passengers of the car, which 
were a mixed multitude ; yet look or think as she 
would, the image of Roscoe still haunted her. One 
gentleman of professional mien had just such a 
thouglitful expression as Roscoe ; another his eyes; 
still another his forehead and hair. 

Near her was a clergyman, his wife and several 
little ones. She learned from the sweet faced 
wife that they were enroute for a new circuit; 
‘■‘Times had been hard,’ she said, “and they had 
not yet received all their salary at the last place, 
yet the good Lord would provide.’ A faith shone 
in the good woman ‘s eyes that puzzled Lily bell. 

“We must not look for our reward in this be- 
nightened sphere,’ aitirmed the minister in a sol- 
emn voice. 

“What faith!’ thought Lilybell, “I presume 
that Roscoe feels that way, too, but I never could 
live on faith.. 

The clergyman and family got off at a way-sta- 
tion, and Lilybell endeavored to smother her ac- 
cusing conscience by reading a novel. It was a 
moral novel, and its hero was another self-sacrific- 
ing, noble character as Roscoe. After several 
clianges, and some delays, she at length reached 
her journey‘s end. It was a railroad center of a- 
bout 1,000 inhabitants. Her aunt Susan‘s fine 
home was situated on the out-skirts of the village, 
and across the street were several vacant lots, and 
one that was an orchard of apple, plum, and cher- 
ry trees. The cherries were now ripe, and pre- 
sented a pretty sight. In the center of the orchard 
<*ould be seen a frame shanty that had once been 
oainted red; its gable faced the street, there were 
1S3 


two windows to be seen, one was boarded up, the 
other partially so. It Avas a one story building, 
and a ladder, made of poles, rested against the 
eaves on one side, near the large old-fashioned 
chimney. Naught but a broAvn dog of enormous 
size, could be seen about the premises. All this 
Lilybell feasted her eyes upon from her chamber 
Avindow, the next morning, as she drank in the 
fresh morning air, while her aunt and cousin pre- 
pared breakfast below. 

Later, at the breakfast table, slie stated that her 
curosity had been aAvakened regarding the occu- 
pants of the house opposite. 

“Ho! ho!’ laughed Uncle Monroe. “So you are 
already interested in the ‘Hermit of Sandown.’ 
Now, as far as in my power, I Avill satisfy the cu- 
riosity.’ 

“To begin Avith,’ continued Uncle Monroe, “The 
hermit‘s name is Hugo Hotfman, a revered gentle- 
man of perhaps 70 years. 

“Been crossed in love, I presume?’ said Lily- 
bell, eager to knoAV all at once. 

“O! AA^ait until I get there, I assure you I am 
coming to it, laughed Uncle Monroe, then contin- 
ued, “Father said he came to these parts some 47 
years ago, when this place aa as a Avilderness ; he 
purchased a section of land from the goA^ernment, 
and my grandfather assisted him in hauling the 
lumber, forty miles A\dth two yokes of oxen, to 
build that shanty, as you call it. People in those 
days Avere content Avith log liouses, many of them 
ha\dng stone or earth floors. But this nabob, as 
he was then called, burned stone and made lime, 
and put his house on a stone Avail cellar, (nearly 
all the cellars, in those days, were mere holes in 
the ground.) He also built that chimney, and 
dope the carpenter’s work on the house. He was 
a ‘jack of all trades.’ Well, as the summer days 
134 


flew by, he had a mansion (as it was then called) 
prepared for his bride. He had also raised a fine 
lot of vegetables, and put them in his cellar, for 
winter use,. It was late in November when he 
brought home his bride from an eastern city. She 
was a delicate thing, it was said, as pretty as a 
picture, and so timid, afraid of her own sliadow. 
You can imagine what slie must have suffered dur- 
ing the long cold winter with the wolves howling 
around the liouse at niglit. He barred the win- 
dows so they would not break in and devour his 
bride. He always took his gun with liim when he 
went out to cut wood. Indians also roved about, 
and camped along the creek. Their nearest neigh- 
l)or was a mile away ; and, when summer came, it 
was not to be wondered at, that she wanted to go 
and visit her parents. They had some words over 
tlie matter, but she went, though he was loath to 
let her. Well, she never returned. Hugo Hoff- 
man confided his troubles to my father; and he 
learned later, that his wife, through the influence 
of her relatives, had secured a divorce from him. 
One child, a daughter, was born unto them. If it 
had been a boy, Hugo would have secured it if he 
had had to have stolen it, but he said a girl need- 
ed a mother. In course of time his wife married 
another man; this quite upset Hugo, and he has 
not been quite himself since. As long as she did 
not marry he entertained hopes that she might re- 
pent and return to him. But on hearing of her 
marriage to his old rival, hope died in his breast. 
Yet he could not die, but still lives a broken 
hearted man. 

Years later he heard of the death of his once 
fair wife. His daughter now a young lady, wrote 
liim of her mother's death. He shed tears, then 
wrote asking his daughter to come to him; but she 
stated she could not; that her step-father, who 
l35 


was her guardian, would not permit Iier to. Some 
years passed ere he heard from her again; then 
she wrote that she had married a wealth}^ man 
v,hom she loved, and had one soji, and that she 
had named him Eoscoe Edward — (I can't think of 
her husband's name.) Well, it don't make any 
difference. My father died five years ago. Hugo 
had then had a few letters from his grandson. His 
daughter had died. Since father's death I have 
learned nothing. Hugo never liked me because I 
stole some of his fruit once — he caught me in the 
very act. He lives a seclusive life, has but little 
to do or say to any one. He lias sold some of his 
land — this town, for instance was once his land. 
At first he refused the railroad right of way, but 
later gave it free, and sold land for building lots. 
He still own three quarter section. No one has been 
inside his door since father died. He lives and 
dresses like a beggar, his only companion being 
that great brown dog. No one steals liis fruit now, 
or trespasses on his vacant lots. As he lives he 
will probably die. His grandson if he still lives, 
will inherit his property. Most likely he will 
know how to spend it ; he is a young man by this 
time.’ 

After Uncle Monroe ceased speaking silence 
reigned for some time, then Lily bell broke the si- 
lence by asking — 

"What is the dog's name?’ 

"Bascom,’ replied Uncle Monroe, a curious look 
in his eyes, then he querried — 

"Pray tell me why you should be interested in a 
dog's name, have you a poodle at home that is not 
christianed?’ 

"No, not I,’ replied Lilybell, "Poodles have no 
fascination for me, yet I admire a noble mastiff 
that will cling to his master, even sacrificing his 
life to protect his master or his property. Indeed 

m 


I have no more respect for a poodle than I have 
for a pet cat, A pet cat is the essence of selfish- 
ness. It will take what you give it without a 
THANK YOU, and expects you to pet it. It will purr 
its satisfaction while occupying the softest seat in 
the room. But in the hour of danger it seeks its 
own safety leaving you to take care of yoursel. 
Now I mean to make a friend of Bascom, so I shall 
have some one to protect me on my rambles through 
yon forest ; I intend through Bascom to reach the 
old gentleman‘s heart. How sad and lone his life 
is.’ 

Uncle Monroe gave a prolonged whistle, cousin 
Ellen laughed and said — 

‘‘I guess you intend to make a mash on the old 
man. How would Lily bell Hoffman, Empress of 
Hermit Castle of Sandown, suit you?’ 

“Fine.’ replied Lilybell. 

“Talk is talk, and girls will be girls the world 
over,’ remarked Aunt Susan, “but truly Miss Lily- 
bell, you had better dismiss the idea of making a 
friend of Bascom, let alone that old man who hates 
women ; that dog is as savage as a wolf, and would 
delight in making mince meat of you. I tell you 
that you had better be a living coward than a dead 
lioness.’ 

“Where there is a will there is a way, and where 
there is a way it can be found, and I am the one 
to find it,’ said Lilybell, “And I intend to do a 
little missionary work while here.’ 

“Ho! hoi’ laughed Uncle Monroe, “You had 
better hunt up raw material for this old chap is a 
bible crank. Years ago I heard that he read the 
bible through three times a year.’ 

“But that is all the good it does him.’ said Cous- 
in Ellen. “He never goes to church, nor associ- 
ates with anyone.’ 

Well, Idl arouse the Christian spirit in his lone 

137 


heart, and make a new man of him.^ said Lilybell. 

Two days later Lilybell, clad in pink nnislin, 
Iier golden brown hair unbound, and a laughing 
light in her soft brown eyes, wended lier way a- 
cross the street, and resting her arms on tlie fence, 
watched Mr. Hoffman gather cherries. Presently 
spying the dog under a tree, she puckered her i)ink 
lips and gave a soft whistle. The dog arose. 

“Bascom! Bascom!’ she called in a silver tone. 
The dog looked first at the pretty creature by the 
fence and then at his master, giving a low growl. 
Mr. Hoffman turned and looked at her, then said- 

“Be quiet, Bascom.’ The dog wagged his tail. 

“Ooine, Bascom! Come, Bascom!’ said Lilybell, 
stretching forth her white hands. Mr. Hoffman 
looked at her so did the dog. 

'‘That is a fine dog,’ said Lilybell, "May I come 
over and caress him? I am so fond of large, no- 
ble looking dogs like him.’ 

And without waiting for Mr. Hoffman to reply, 
she scaled the fence and stood beside the Hermit 
and his dog. 

"Bascom, Bascom, you fine fellow.’ she said, ven- 
turing to pet his broad head. Bascom looked at 
his master as much as to ask if all was right. 

"That is all right, Bascom,’ said his master in 
a husky tone. 

"Where are you from? I never saw the like of 
you here before.’ 

"I came from Detroit a few days ago.’ she re- 
plied. 

"O ! so you did. What brought you here?’ quer- 
ried Mr. Hoffman. 

"The cars,’ she said in an earnest tone. 

"Yes, yes, but wasn't it a lovers’ quarrel?’ he 
asked. "Fine ladies don't leave the gay city for 
such a small uninteresting place at this, without 
a reason. 


138 


She smiled be wi tellingly and said — “One would 
almost believe you to be a mind reader.’ 

“Ho! ho! Then lam right,’ said he adding in a 
pensive tone, “Well, a broken engagement is bet- 
ter than a divorce. Yet misunderstandings before, 
as well as after might be cleared up but for self 
pride, and the selfish influence of others.’ 

“I believe you,’ replied Lilybell, looking into 
liis sad eyes, which reminded her of Roscoe^s. 

Oh! why,’ thought she, “should every one re- 
mind me of Roscoe?’ She knelt on the green grass 
and entwined her arms around Bascom, and said- 

“Mr. Hoffman, 1 have a favor to ask of you. I 
so much desire to ramble in that grove of yours, 
and I should not fear to do so if Bascom would ac- 
company me. I have a camera and wishito take some 
views.’ 

“O! you are a picture taker, are you! Well,’ 
said he slowly, “I hardly think Bascom would ac- 
company you, alone, but I might go with you, if I 
had these cherries picked.’ 

“Let me assist you,’ said she, “and when the 
trees are stripped, then for the woods ; we can take 
our dinner along and we tliree will have a regular 
picnic.’ Her merry laugh inspired a smile on his 
sad face. It took the greater part of two days to 
harvest the cherries. A curious look overspread 
the face of many a passer by. It Avas a scene well 
worth the painting — a fair young lady, clad in 
pink, and an old gentleman in faded garments; 
the great brown dog wagging his plume-like tail, 
ever eager to aid but always in the way ;the green 
canopy of cherry-leaves besprinkled with coral 
fruit; and over all the blue sky. 

It was even noticed by the passengers on tlie 
train, and one dude remarked to the lady by liis 
side “Evening and Morning personified.’ 

The cherries sold as fast as gathered, as Lily- 
139 


bell had artistically painted a card (and placed it 
uptown) — “Cherries for sale at H.lHolfinan‘s.’ A 
cherry tree loaded with fruit, and the boy Wash- 
ington with a hatchet, adorned the card. 

Many remarks were made because the city lady 
was on friendly terms with the Hermit. Some 
said she was an adventurist, and would persuade 
him to will her his property; while others declared 
that she would turn out to be a distant relative 
Uncle Monroe laughed; Aunt Susan chided and 
threatened to inform her mother; Ellen, shared 
the merriment of her father, and offered to accom- 
pany them on their rambles in the woods. 

“Are you going to write a story?” asked Ellen. 

“No not write one but enact one.” said Lily- 
belle. 

“ You Goos ! that crazy old hermit will murder 
you and leave you in some cave,” said Aunt Su- 
san where-up-oii Lily belle began to dance and sing 
— “There was an old frog that a wooing went, a 
wooing went.” 

Many were the rambles in The Hermit^s vast 
woods, and Lilybell secured many fine scenes, be- 
sides baskets of various kinds of nuts and mosses. 
People of the village marked the changed in the 
Hermit. He actually had his hair cut, and beard 
trimmed, and people gazed in utter astonishment, 
when they beheld Miss Lilly bell, clad in spotless 
white silk, trip along to church by the side of the 
Hermet, who was dressed in a fine cloth suit, 
and sported a gold-headed cane, 

“Wonders will never cease,’ declared one vil- 
lager. 

^'She'll marry him yet,’ said another. 

Summer and fall sped far too rapidly for the 
happy trio, which of course included Bascom. 

Meantime the Hermit had had his house repaint- 
ed, and glass put in the windows. The inner part 
140 


also underwent repairs ; new furniture was pur- 
chased, and his abode became a home of comfort. 

It was nearing Christmas, and one day Lily bell 
mentioned to the Hermit her theme for the ap- 
proaching holiday, which was to play Santa Claus 
to the poor children in the shanties of the village, 
and he promised to aid her. He then mentioned 
his own theme. (It was the first time he Iiad ev- 
er told her anything regarding his family. He 
said — 

‘■'I wish to tell you one thing that lies very near 
my heart. You probably have heard my history 
through the lips of others, and as it would ])e pain- 
ful for me to repeat it. I'll simply pass it over, 
and only say I have a grandson living; he is my 
only relative. He was in Detroit the last I lieard 
of him; perhaps you may have met him, you say 
you came from Detroit.’ 

"What might his name be?’ asked Lilyl)ell, in- 
differently, for she did not like the idea of his 
having anyone but herself, for slie had learned to 
lov^e the Hermit with a daughter‘‘s love. 

"His name is Edward. They called him Mason 
when he was a child, as that was his step-father's 
name, but he does not go by that name now. I 
furnished liim the money to go to college, and I 
wrote for him to come and visit me, but he de- 
clared he had not the time. That made me angry, 
so when his next letter came I returned it unread. 
That was two years ago. Now what I want you to 
do, is to write to him and ask him to forgive me, 
and invite him here Christmas. Will you?’ quer- 
ried the old gentleman. 

"Certainly, if you wish it, but I think he would 
appreciate it more if you wrote it yourself.’ said 
she. 

"Well, come to think on it, I believe he would, 
and I guess I'll go and write now, before dark ; a 
141 


short letter will do as well as a long one.’ said he. 

‘‘I agree with you,’ said Lilybell, “And I will 
assist you regarding the Christmas dinner’ but 
shall not join you, as it Avould be better for you to 
have him to yourself.’ 

Later Mr. Hoffman informed her that he had re- 
ceived an answer from his grandson, and that he 
would come on the ten o'clock train Christmas 
morning. 

“That is all right,’ declared Lilybell, “1 can 
prepare the dinner, spread the table, leave the 
pudding in the pot, and the turkey in the oven 
and you can do the rest without my assistance.’ 

Her plan worked well, and the dinner was a 
success. She had told herself that she would not 
even look out, but the temptation was great, and 
she did look, and through the lace curtains she 
saw a tall figure in an immense fur coat, and cap 
pulled over his face, as it was snowing. 

Two days passed by, the snow banks were piled 
high. It was the eve of the second day; while 
looking out the window she beheld tlie same fur- 
clad figure wend his way from the Hermit‘s cabin 
toward the depot. 

The following morning Lilybell ventured over 
to see the Hermit. Bascom was overjoyed to see 
her, and played around her. Mr. Hoffman hear- 
ing the noise opened tlie door and on seeing Lily- 
bell said — 

“Good morning. Miss. Come right in.’ She 
entered smiling. “This is my grandson. Miss Lily- 
bell,’ said Mr. Hoffman. 

^ She bowed, then turning to Mr. Hoffman said, 
“I beg your pardon, I thought he had taken his 
departure, as I saw him go down town last eve, 
and hence 1 came over. I do not wish to intrude.’ 
and she turned toward the door. 

“Stop a moment. Miss Warren,’ said the grand- 
142 


son, “1 am about to take my departure, please ac- 
cept my thanks for your kindness to grandfather; 
and may lie continue to find in you a friend, tliough 
you liave discarded me for doing what I believe 
to be my duty.’ 

Lily bell turned and placed both of her hand in 
those of Koscoe Edward Kirkland. 

‘‘Forgive me, Roscoe,’ said she, “God alone 
knows what I liave suffered for my hasty decision. 
But for your grandfather, whom I never suspect- 
ed being a relative of yours, I should have drifted 
into melancholy.’ 

Roscoe folded her to his breast, and the old gen- 
tleman said, “God bless you my children.’ 

Five years have gone by. A fine house now a- 
dorns one of the Hermit‘s vacant lots. Miss Lily- 
bell is I!ilrs. Kirkland now. Rev. Roscoe Kirk- 
land is the pastor of the Rresbyterian church at 
Sandown. Mr. Hoffman still lives in his little 
house, but spends much of his time with his pos- 
terity. The twins — Hugo and Roscoe Kirkland — 
are a source of endless amusement to him, and his 
face wears a light that wans not, as he has some 
tiling to live for. 

Bascom tries to frolic like a puppy when he sees 
the children. 


143 


THE LIGHT WENT OUT. 

.jag . 

‘‘Now I wish you four girls to canvass the town 
to get money to purchase library books.’ said the 
new professor to the senior class. 

The girls consented, and the following Saturday 
afternoon, Nettie North, Dollie Reese, Marcia 
Ross, and Emma Atwood set forth in various di- 
rections to canvass the town. All the girls except 
Nettie North were natives of the town, and the 
other girls gave Nettie some directions as she and 
her family had but recently moved to town. Net- 
tie rang the bell at various houses along the street; 
some were not a home ; some invited her in, but 
treated her coldly; wliile others signed for a cer- 
tain amount. It was a foggy day in December 
and at an early hour darknesss enshrouded the 
street, and Nettie lost lier way. At about five 
o‘clock night set in, in earnest, and as a sleet had 
been falling, the ropes that held the streets lamps 
were covered witli ice and would not work, so the 
village was left in darkness. 

Nettie now quite nervous, rang tlie bell at the 
door of the last house on the street. It was an 
imposiiig structure, more of a mansion than a cot- 
tage. A maid opened the door and invited her 
into the waiting room. Nettie told her mission 
and the girl said : 

“ I’ll tell the Mrs. ” and the girl disappeared, 
leaving the small lamp, she had in her hand, on a 
stand near the entrance. 

144 


Nettie waited for some time but the girl did 
not return. She ))egan to tremble; was some one 
playing a trick on her? She was about to rise and 
go out on the street, when she heard footsteps on 
the front porch, so clianged her mind and tried 
to appear calm. The front door opened and a firm 
manly step echoed in the hall ; the door of the 
waiting room opened and a man dressed in black 
entered. He was tall, and exceedingly thin for 
one of his height; his lean visage was clean sha- 
ven ; liis eyes, keen gray ; his nose straight, and 
mouth square. The strange figure paused in its 
headlong strides on perceiving the form of a young 
girl. 

“O! good evening; beg pardon; you surprised 
me; I believe 1 have seen you before,” he said. 

Nettie remem ])ered seeing him but had hoped 
that he would not recognize her. It was the pre- 
vious summer, and slie accompanied by some of her 
girl chums were at the capitol city shopping; af- 
ter finishing tlieir purchases they sat down on one 
of the seats in the park near the Capitol. As they 
sat chatting and taking in the sights, a veiy tall 
and peculiar looking young man came out of tlie 
Capitol, descended the steps, and as he passed 
them gave them a penetrating look, which some of 
them met with a smile. He wended his way to 
the postoffice, and entered, but soon emerged and 
retraced his steins, again passing the girls, who 
were now conversing about the peculiar character ; 
as he passed up the Capitol steps one of the girls 
said : ‘‘I wonder if he got a letter.” No doubt he 
overheard her, for at this juncture he turned and 
looked at them searchingly as if he would silence 
them. As he did so a letter dropped from his coat 
but he was not aware of the fact and turned to pass 
on. Nettie arose ; “Sir,” said she, “you have 
dropped a letter.” He retraced his steps and 
US 


picked up the letter saying: “Thank you, miss,” 
then entered the Capitol. 

All this was passing in Nettie‘s mind while the 
stranger was speaking, but she arose and said : 

“I am quite sure we have never met, althougli 
I must admit that you look familiar.” 

He smiled. “I am quite positive,’ asserted he, 
“that you are the young lady that informed me 
that I had dropped a letter, last summer, on the 
capitol steps.’ 

“I recollect now.’ she responded slightly flush- 
ing. 

“Keally I must thank you again, for ’ 

“O! surely it was nothing.’ said she. 

“How much is nothing?" querried he in a queer 
tone. “You girls seemed to have been quite mer- 
ry that day, and I have been curious since then to 
know if I was the subject of your sport. I was 
just recovering from a fit of sickness, and am a- 
ware that I looked like a scarecrow.’ 

“Beg pardon, sir, we were quite ashamed of our 
conduct, and hoped we might never meet you a- 
gain. But, really, we had no intention of ridicul- 
ing you ; quite the opposite, we deemed you an 
interesting character, one worthy of a study.’ 

“Am I to take it as a compliment?’ asked he. 

“Sure.’ replied Nettie. 

At this juncture a gust of wind came through 
the hall and into the room, and the light went out. 
It seemed an age to Nettie ere a footstep hastened 
adown the hall, and someone entered the room. 

“Slie is gone, I fear.’ said a woman‘s voice, and 
a match was struck and the lamiD relit. Present- 
ly she looked around, gave a start, and then laugh- 
ed merrily. 

“O! Hope, have you returned?’ she cried. 

“It is I, but I thought you said you would rec- 
ognize me a mile off.’ said he, teasingly. 

146 


“Not in the dark.’ said she. 

“Well, Marion, are you going to introduce me 
to this lady friend of yours?’ he asked. 

“Why, Hope, I was waiting for you to introduce 
her to me.’ said Marion. 

Nettie llushe(i, then introduced herself and ex- 
plained her errand. Marion apologized. She said 
she was getting lier baby to sleep, and had bade 
her maid to go and ask the caller to wait a few 
moments, but had no idea she had left her in the 
dark. 

Marion signed a small sum. Hope Tower did 
likewise, then as Nettie was ready to take her de- 
parture she confessed that she had lost her way. 
“Father,’ said die, “purchased the Cavenaugh res- 
idence ; we have been here but a short time, and 
have been about but little, except to church and 
school.’ 

Marion smiled, “You are not far from home,’ 
she said, “our lot joins the Oavenaugh lot on the 
back, or would join it, but for the alley between. 
Hope, you had better see her home, she is but a 
mere child to be out, alone, on a night like this.’ 

“Certainly, with pleasure,’ and as they took 
their departure, he said; “We will take a short 
cut across the alley; there is a walk the greater 
part of the way.’ 

Soon they were at her kitchen door. He raised 
liis hut, bade her Goon Night and was gone before 
Nettie could frame the words. Thank You. 

The following day all docked to church to hear 
the new minister; several had met him before, as 
lie had frequently visited at his cousin‘s (Marion 
Moody) in the village. Nettie was aware that a 
new minister had been sent, but was not interest- 
ed in the matter, and had not asked his name, so 
was quite surprised on entering the church, to see 
the tall form of Hope Tower in the pulpit. He 
147 


gave them a good sermon and shook hands with 
the congregation at the door. Nettie imagined 
she saw a smile lurking around his mouth, as he 
shook her hand. 

A year passed quite uneventfully, except that 
Nettie graduated with her class in June, and the 
church had been revived, Christian Endeavor start- 
ed and flourishing, Sunday school improved, and 
to the regret of all, the pastor had been called to 
a broader field where his salary would be doubled. 

“Yes,’ thought Nettie, “he is going away today, 
and I will never see him more, but he shall not 
know my secret — that he is bearing my heart away 
with him, for I have hid my love for him.' and she 
hurried along the street. Suddenly she raised 
her eyes and met the subject of her thoughts, grip 
in hand, on his way to the depot. He stopped 
short. 

“I called to see you,’ he said, “but you were 
not at home.’ He proffered his hand, “ Will lyou 
be my wife, Nettie? I love you; may I hope? Can 
I write?’ 

At this juncture the train‘s whistle was heard 
in the distance. He dropped her hand: 

“My train.’ he said, as he scanned her face for 
an answer. 

“Yes — you may write.’ she said, but he heard 
only the Yes. 

“1 am happy. Good-bye.’ he said as he hurried 
on. 

Nettie looked for a letter, but none came for a 
full month. It was brief but to the point. The 
letter ran : 

Dear Nettie, — 

All is now ready. The parsonage 
has been repaired and furnished. May I come for 
you next mouth? Make your plans and let me 

141 


know as soon as possible. What suits you will 
suit me, only let it be soon, for I am anxious to 
get settled in our new home. 

Yours with my whole heart, 

Hope Towep. 

“What am I to do, mother?’ asked Nettie, smil- 
ing through her tears. 

“Do as you choose. It concerns yourself.’ re- 
plied her mother, and Nettie clioose the “Tower 
of Hope.’ as her younger sister said. 

Nettie never regretted Iier choice of a husband, 
tliough void of courtship. 



Hunting With A Marriage 
License. 

“I know just what I‘ll do. I‘ll get a license and 
go hunting. I suppose Fred‘s wife will say ‘There is 
no fool like an old fool,’ but I say this much, its 
enough for her to boss Fred without tyranizing 
over me.’ Thus soliloquized Frank Austin, a bach- 
elor of 80 . He and his brother Fred had worked 
the homestead together since their parents died. 
His brother‘s wife kept house. On the morning 
following Frank‘s decision he dressed in his Sun- 
day best, and after refusing to tell his inquisitive 
149 


sister-iii-law where he was going, set out on foot 
for the railroad station. There he boarded a train. 
On reaching the city he had little idea where to 
go to secure a license, but was directed to the of- 
fice of the county clerk. As he entered the place, 
a man who had just secured a license pocketed it 
and walked out. The clerk tlien turned to Frank 
and asked, 

‘‘Do you wish a license, too?’ 

Frank answered in the affirmative. The clerk 
selected a partially printed document and proceed- 
ed to fill it out, asking Frank his name, age, etc. 

“Now then, hers!’ 

“What hers?’ asked Frank wonderingly. 

At this juncture two men entered. 

“Be quick. I have no time to waste,’ said the 
clerk, your girFs name and age!’ 

Frank blushed, for he really luid no girl. Then 
he thought of the school teacher who had been 
wont to smile sweetly when they met, and as he 
must give some name he murmured, 

“Bessie Moore, aged 21.’ 

Soon the document was perfected and signed. 
Frank put it in an inner pocket and hastened home. 
For several days following he helped the neigbors 
thresh. Then came a rainy day. 

“Now is my time for a hunt.’ said he, taking 
down his gun. Putting his license in his pocket 
he set forth. He traveled some miles, then see- 
ing a dock of prairie chickens, he fired several 
times in quick succession. At once he was accost- 
ed by two strangers whom he had not before no- 
ticed. One politely asked, 

“Have you a license?’ 

For an answer Frank handed forth tlie document. 

With wide-open eyes and parted lips the stran- 
gers read it. One finally ])roke into a laugh and 
the other remarked. 


150 


“You‘ve made a mistake stranger. This is your 
marriage license.’ 

‘‘What?’ asked Frank. 

“Just what I said, sir. Look for yourself. This 
license,’ continued he, “permits Frank Austin and 
Bessie Moore to be united in marriage. Let me 
congratulate you, Mr. Austin. Bessie Moore is a 
cousin of mine. I feel sure you Avill never regret 
your choice. If you fail to invite me to the wed- 
ding , but 1‘11 make no threats now. Here is 

your license.’ and Avith a smile he turned and the 
two walked away. 

Frank stood for a moment aghast, tlien wended 
his way across the fields homeward. As he drew 
near Mr. Fisher’s where Miss Moore boarded, Mr. 
Fisher hailed him ; 

“ Well ! well ! If you don‘t beat the JeAvs ! Sly fel- 
loAV you are. I just read in the paper about the 
license. Bessie came an hour ago, but I have not 
mentioned it to lier. I knew Avife Avas craving 
that pleasure, so I stepped out and left her to do 
it. I presume Bessie has found a substitute to 
teach the fall term.’ 

At this juncture Mrs. Fisher and Bessie appear- 
ed, and with Hushed face exclaimed ; 

“Mr. Austin, I‘m surprised. I have just read 
Avhat the paper says, and it must be a joke by 
some one.’ 

Frank never could tell hoAV he managed to ex- 
plain the affair so that all understood, but he did, 
and then all laughed heartily. Frank too. Then 
liis heart sank and he asked : 

“But what am I to do? People Avill guy me un- 
mercifully. I can ueA^er liave any peace at Fred‘s.’ 

“Have you ev^er had any peace at Fred‘s.’ re- 
plied Mrs. Fisher. 

“Honor bright! I have not.’ retorted Frank. 

1S1 


“Why remain there then?’ querried Mr. Fisher, 
“Why not marry and enliven that vacant house?’ 

“It takes three to do that.’ 

“Well, there are three here, and two besidesfor 
witnesses,’ said Mr. Fisher, “and marriage is the 
best means of quieting rumor in this case. l‘m a 
Justice of the Peace. Come, let me hitch you up 
on the spot.’ 

Frank glanced at Bessie, and slie modestly smil- 
ed her willingness. Then they joined hands and 
were soon made man and Avife. Mr. Fisher asked 
Frank to remain to tea, but lie declined with 
thanks, saying: 

“Fred and his wife go to an entertainment this 
evening, and I must be there to do the chores.’ 

On reaching home Fred‘s wife greeted him with : 

“Fred has gone to help Mr. Brown and won‘t be 
home until dark, so I must give up going to the 
entertainment. You had no riglit to go away to- 
day. You are always shirking.’ 

“That will do,’ said Frank, “I am going to live 
in the brick house. Fred and I will divide the 
farms, then you can run your place and I will run 
mine.’ 

“Going to batch it?’ querried she. “I suppose 
you think I ‘11 bake your bread and wash your 
clothes, but you are mistaken. 1‘11 never ’ 

“Now, see here, Mrs. Austin, if my wife can‘t 
do our work, I shall hire some help.’ said Frank. 

“Your wife,’ she said with a sneer, “You must 
be crazy.’ 

Frank left her abruptly and went to the barn. 

“Yes,’ soliloquized she, “he is crazy. Well, no 
great loss without some gain. Fred will take him 
to the asylum, and the farms will not have to be 
divided.’ 

Fred had a confidential talk with Frank before 

152 


he returned to the house, so was ready for his 
wife‘s outburst. 

“O! Fred,’ said she, “did you see Frank! He 
is daffy, sure.’ 

“Yes, I suppose so. He has married Bessie 
Moore and they will live in the brick house. 1 
think he is real sensible, as Bessie is such a good 
girl. 

“Fred, how can you? The property will have to 
be divided, and our children will inherit only half. 
It is shameful for the property to go out of the 
the family so.’ 

“You silly woman,’ said Fred, “Frank‘sl family 
has as much right to the Austin estate as mine 
has.’ 

Three years have rolled by, and the farmer can 
now hunt on his own land without a license. But 
Frank rocks the twins now on rainy days in pref- 
erence to hunting. 



PICKELED PANSY. 



It was a sunny winter‘s day betwixt Christmas 
and New Year‘s. Sleighbells were singing as mer- 
ry tunes as the wild birds do in springtime. Earl 
Green, a school teacher from Sleepy Hollow, was 
improving his vacation canvassing, and was on the 
road near Plain View with a livery rig. 

“Ha ! ha !’ laughed he, perceiving names writ- 
ten, with illustrations and mottoes,, on the snow 
153 


banks that loomed up on one side of the road. 

“Drive slowly,’ said he to his driver, “these 
scenes are better than a side show.’ 

The liorses slackened their pace at the driver^ s 
bidding. 

“Ho! ho! see those boys running, hats and mit- 
tens Hying. That is well executed.’ said Earl 
Green. “Pickeled Pansy, The Kid.’ read lie. 

“Whom might the artist be?’ 

“That no doubt,’ explained the driver, “is Dick’s 
work. He, the little scamp, “is enough to make 
a preacher sAvear. The teacher. Miss Pansy Pick- 
el, could do nothing with him (and she is a smart 
one) and his guardian told her to give him a ‘dose 
of the oil of willow,’ and she did so, and it is said 
he is some better, at least^in school. Tliis is one 
of his revenges, I presume. He has cliristened 
her ‘Pickeled Pansy, The Kid’. He calls lier ‘Kid’ 
because — Whoa ! ’ 

The horses had taken fright at some school-child- 
ren coasting, hence the driver had his hands full 
preventing a runaway. Mr. Green did not get the 
last of his sentence, so thought she Avas called 
“The Kid’ because she Avas so young. 

A Aveek later Earl Green AA^as back at Sleepy 
HolloAv, teaching his dull, small school, and to kill 
time he Avrote a letter to Miss Pansy Pickel, of 
Plain VieAV. A feAV days later Miss Pickel smiled 
as she opened and read the letter. 

“Begging pardon for such a breacli of etiquette 
in Avriting to a stranger.’ Then folloAved an ex- 
planation hoAV he had seen her name on the snoAA^- 
bank, and of the loneliness of the locality Avhere 
he AA^as consigned to spend the Avi liter, and ended 
by saying — “I, too, have a nick-name, mine being 
of a verdant nature — ‘Early Greens, tlie boy peda- 
gogue.’ He urged her to respond and give him 
permission to write again, as he was much in need 
154 


of a cheerful and instructive correspondent to keep 
his feet in the path that all good boys should trav- 
el. 

Miss Pansy smiled as she soliloquized — “Bless 
the boy ! Poor lonely child ! then she laughed a- 
loud . “A Kid, indeed I am, of forty-five sum- 
mers’ ho! ho! What a joke on the smart youth. 
Indeed he is green by nature as well as name. He, 
no doubt, thinks me a young and handsome girl, 
and only wishes for the outpouring of my pen to 
keep him from a catamos state while confined at 
Sleepy Hollow. Well, I guess I will comply. Few 
girls can handle the pen as I can, and my con- 
science would accuse me if I refused to perform a 
kind act. Now, think for a moment! My letters 
might keep him out of mischief, for if I write, I 
shall not only write to amuse but to elevate also.’ 

A lively correspondent ensued twixt the spins- 
ter and the boy teacher, and the effect on him was 
for the better. Although her letters overflowed 
with wit, there was an undercurrent of sincerity 
that touched his better nature, and his small vices 
he began to drop, and even said his prayer, a thing 
he had not done since he left home. 

In the springtime, as leaf and blossom were 
bursting their prison doors, and wild birds were, 
mating, he wrote to Miss Pickel hinting at matri- 
mony, which, although it rendered her quite in- 
dignant; she forgave, saying it was his first breach 
of etiquette, and he being ignorant of her tender 
age. She then asked him if he had ever heard of 
the song ‘Billy Boy’ whose wife was too young to 
leave her mother. 

To that he did not reply by letter, but appeared 
in person at Rose Cottage, the spinster‘s home at 
Plain View. As she was transplanting some flow- 
ers one sunny morn, a stranger accosted her and 
asked if she was Miss Pansy Pickel. He raised 
155 


his hat, and his bald pate reflected the sunliglit, 
and a pair of dark eyes twinkled through Iiis gold 
bowed spectacles. 

She bowed an affirmative. 

He then introduced himself as Mr. Green, or 
Early Greens, the Boy Pedagogue, of Sleepy Hol- 
low. 

A merry laugh ensued. 

Autumn was the time set for the nuptial, as it 
would correspond with their age. As the crimson 
leaves were being borne away by the autumn 
winds, they were made one, and they now reside 
at Bose Cottage, and little Dick has a home with 
them. They prophesy a fortune and fame for their 
ward; a famous artist he will become. 



GRANDMA’S STORY. 



‘‘Please tell us a story. Grandma.’ said Willie. 
“Yes, do.’ chimed in Fred, “A true story about 
the Indian Massacre here, in 1862.'’ 

“O! that,’ said Grandma, “is familiar to you 
all.’ 

“But,’ persisted Fred, “we have never heard it 
from your lips, as this is your first visit since I was 

a youngster. ’ 


“O! do.’ plead little Millie. “Grandma, do tell 
ns.’ 

“I guess,’ said Minnie, a maiden of eighteen, 
“that oiir great lawyer Downs would not he inter- 
ested in anything so stale, and Frank Ford has 
heard it many times.’ 

“But,’ interrupted Frank, “It would be doubly 
interesting from the lips of a beholder." 

Let us have the story by all means. I am fond 
of the original,’ said the lawyer. 

Lawyer Downs was from St. Paul, where he had 
met and wooed pretty Minnie Wilder, and it was 
said tliat tliey were engaged. Frank Ford was a 
neighbor's son, and long an admirer of Minnie, but 
of late he realized that he had lost her. 

“Very well, then,’ said Mrs. Wilder, and she 
related the story as follows, — 

“It was the summer of 1862. My summer term of 
school liad closed, and I was at home here at New 
Ulni. There had been some trouble between the 
Indians and whites. By some, danger was scented 
yet we believed it all groundless, for our family 
liad ever been on friendly terms with the red men. 
Our house was small and low, and our family was 
a large one, I was the eldest. 

One night we were awakened by a hideous yell 
outside the door. All the children that slept in 
tlie attic, except myself, ran down stairs. Soon 
the door was burst open, yells, screams, and groans 
followed. I looked through the cracks in the lloor, 
and, O! horrors! I saw my father struck down by 
a tomahawk, and my mother scalped, and an In- 
dian was nailing my little sister to the table. I 
wonder now, as I think of it, how I could have 
kept quiet, but my self-possession saved my life ; 
yet I must give God the glory, for it Avas Him that 
gave me such calmness of mind. I arose from the 
lloor, no noise did I make. I dressed myself and 
157 


sprang from the window, and still remained calm 
when I landed in the arms of an Indian. 

‘‘I’ll save you,’ he whispered as he carried me 
away and seated me on his pony, tying me on. He 
mounted another, leading mine, and away we gal- 
loped screened by trees along the water course. 
Later we were joined by a young brave on a dash- 
ing pony ; he was dressed in warpaint and feath- 
ers. Swiftly we rode until morning dawned. I 
saw fires in all directions and heard blood-curd- 
ling yells mingled with screams. O ! I can never 
blot that terrible night out of my memory.’ said 
Grandma dropping her head on her hand for a 
moment. “At day-break we stopped in a wooded 
glen. I perceived that the young brave was a half 
breed, and that his eyes were blue. I also notic- 
ed that my rescuer, or captor, whichever you may 
call him, was none other than White Deer, whom 
I had met many times, and when it was very cold 
I had let him into my school-room to warm, and 
on several occasions gave him some of my lunch. 
He had previously informed me that his home was 
in Dakota, and that lie, with others had come east 
to trap and hunt. My captor stated than an’ In- 
dian never forgot a kindness, and if it had been 
in his power he would have saved my family also ; 
and even prevented the massacre, but he could 
nob do so, hence done all he could — saved me. 
We traveled nights, and rested days in secluded 
spots. He told me not to attempt to escape, by 
any means, fori would fall a prey to wild beasts 
or bad Indians. 

After many nights travel we reached our desti- 
nation. His wife proved to be a white woman; 
she had been captured when quite young, but 
could speak the English language. Her husband 
called her White Hose, and being very fond of her 
he had from time to time secured books for her, 
158 


and she had taught her son (Charley, she called 
him, but White Deer called him Wild-hare) to 
read. I was adopted as their daughter and named 
Minnie-ha-ha (laughing water.) 

I was allowed to roam over the plains until win- 
ter set in. Charley as I called him was my escort. 
He taught me to row, swim, and shoot, and was al- 
ways kind to me. Wliite Deer treated me with 
consideration and rendered my days pleasant, and 
quite unlike the other Indians, he was kind to 
White Rose; and unlike other squaws, she was 
not compelled to perform manuel labor. 

During the first fall of snow. White Deer in- 
formed me that Charley, his son, wished me to be 
his wife. He told me that, through other Indians, 
he had learned that none of my family, or other 
relations liad escaped massacre, and that I had no 
one to go l)ack to do. Hence Charley and I were 
married in Indian style, and set up house keeping 
in a Avigwani. But as civilization came creeping 
in, we too, had a house, and Charley, who favored 
the whites, purchase a baby carriage for our two 
boys, — John, who is your father, and your uncle 
James, who now figures as a missionary at the 
Dakota reservation. 

After finishing their college course at St. Paul, 
and that is wliere your father and mother met, 
but since their marriage have resided here on my 
father‘s homestead where my family was massa- 
cred. It was seven years after the massacre that 
Charley and I came here to prove my father ‘s pro- 
perty, and I had no difficulty in so doing; for some 
of the old neighbors, who escaped the slaughter, 
still resided here, identified me. The home farm 
was rented until your father and mother came 
here to reside. 


159 


White Deer and White Rose were gathered to 
their fathers some time ago.’ 

‘‘Well, Millie is asleep, and my story is ended.’ 
said Grandma Wilder. 

“But how did we come by the name of Wilder?’ 
asked Fred. 

“But, I will explain.’ said Grandma Wilder. 
“Your grandfather wished his name to be Charley 
Wilder, instead of Charley Wild-hare, as the In- 
dians called him.’ 

The children filed off to bed, and grandma also 
retired. Frank Ford arose and left the room, but 
was guilty of eaves-dropping; as he paused in the 
hall, he heard Minnie say to Lawyer Downs, 

“Why do you look so gloomy?’ 

“You never told me you were a squaw.’ he re- 
torted* 

“Yes, sir, I‘m a descendant of the Red Man; 
they have souls. You believe in evolution, that 
you are a descendant of apes; they have no souls.’ 
said she. 

He arose and left the room and soon after left the 
house. Frank slipped out, unseen and unheard. 

Lawyer Downs was never again heard of at New 
Ulm. The following Christmas when Frank asked 
her a certain question, Minnie answered “Yes,’ 
and she considers herself fortunate to escape mar- 
rying an ape. 



160 


Sale of the Spotted Calf. 


The new Union Ohurch at Pertville had been 
completed, with the exception of painting the 
outside. Occasionally a missionary preached there 
to a mixed community; but of late a minister had 
been provided. The Presbyterian board of Home 
Missions had sent a young minister to labor among 
them. He had preached in the new chundi two 
Sundays, and was well liked, especially by the 
young people (which numbered about 30) of the 
vicinity. 

Kev. Wye being social, and having tact, won 
people his way, and generally made them think as 
he did ; so seeing that the new church required 
cleaning on the inside, he appointed a day for the 
young people to meet and renovate the appearance 
of God‘s house. 

A collection had been taken up to buy paint, 
and Walter Fry, who had recently purchased a 
farm in the vicinity, had agreed to paint, if some 
one would board him while the job lasted, as he 
had rented his farm, and his parents lived some 
few miles distant. Several said that they would 
see that he wanted nothing. So he borrowed an 
old coat and pair of overalls, and went to work to 
paint the exterior of the churcli. The following 
Thursday the girls met at the church in their cal- 
ico dresses, armed witli brooms, scrub brushes, etc. 

Young Dr. Loyd, who had located at Pertville 
since the railroad went through the town, and 
who wished to gain and keep the good will of the 
161 


parish, came to bring water, keep fire to heat it, 
and in any other way he could, liel]) the girls. He 
made the day pleasant for the group of fifteen 
girls, of whom the most distinguished was Isabella 
Norton, the merchant’s daughter; and the one 
considered the least was Gertrude Waterman, a 
waitress at the hotel; not but what she was as fine 
looking and noble as the others, but because she 
was a servant. 

Now Isabel was determined to win the young 
doctor, and he was well aware of the fact, but was 
in no hurry to become engaged, for he enjoyed 
being a sort of a universal fellow among the girls. 
A jolly day they had. Walter Fry finished the 
painting, and came into the cluircli just as the 
girls pronounced their work completed. They all 
shouted Avith merriment as he entered. What a 
figure he cut; the old blue overalls, patched with 
broAvn, were much to short for him ; while the tat- 
tered brown coat was much too broad for his 
shoulders; and the old battered cap drooped over 
one eye ; and all were bespattered with white paint. 

When there was a lull in the merrsnient, the 
doctor asked— 

“What animal does our laughing painter resem- 
ble?’ 

“A spotted calf.’ said Isabella. 

“That‘s right.’ declared the doctor. 

“How is it. Doctor, that you doiFt get married?’ 
querried Walter. 

“Because — because — ’ said the doctor, “Well I 
don‘t know. But, Walter, why don‘t you get mar- 
ried and work your own farm, instead of renting it?’ 

“No one will have me — a spotted calf.’ replied 
Walter. 

I will, I will, rang from a dozen feminine throats. 

“But,’ laughed Walter, “ I am not a Mormon, 
I don^t want a dozen wives.’ 

163 


“We‘ll fix that,’ said the doctor, “we‘ll sell the 
‘spotted calf,’ at auction to the highest bidder.’ 

“Here, Walter,’ continued he, “stand on tliis 
stool,’ and he placed the high stool (that the girls 
had used in washing the windows) in front of the 
pulpit. Walter, a lover of frolic, mounted it. 

“I‘ll be the auctioneer.’ said the doctor, then 
continued — 

“For sale, to the highest bidder present, a twen- 
ty-five year old calf; six feet in height; warrant- 
ed to be gentle ; can be lead by the ears; will draw 
swill-cart, baby carriage, or a hand-sled, without 
upsetting it. He can survive on anything that a 
goat can. All ladies present can have one bid 
each. If cash is short, any of your earthly goods 
will serve as an equivalent.’ The doctor then pro- 
cured a pencil and paper, saying — “I will call your 
names, and each can state what she will give in 
exchange for the Spotted Calf.’ 

One said — ‘*My canary;’ another, “My pet cat;’ 
another, “A stuffed dog;’ &c. 

When Gertrude‘s name was called she shook her 
head, saying — 

“I am not one of you; I have no pets.’ 

“Anything will do. Miss Waterman,’ said the 
doctor, “But you are wrong in asserting that you 
are not one of us; we are all co-laborers. 

“We all are all merry workers, 

We’ll keep in pleasant mood, 

No matter what our trade is 
If we’re but doing good.” 
sang the doctor. 

“Well, I‘ll give this dust rag.’ said Gertrude, 
holding up a ragged pillow-slip that she had used 
in dusting the pews. A laugh followed. 

“That is all, I believe.’ said the doctor. Then 
turning to Walter, continued — “Now, Walter, you 
must decide on the value of the article offered for 
163 


the afore-said Spotted Calf. I will now proceed to 
read the list. Silence!” he demanded, bringing 
his pocket-knife down on the stool. Silence follow- 
ed, as he in a businesslike manner read the paper. 
Then Walter, (who had dismounted from his lofty 
perch) in a feigned earnest tone, said — 

“As for birds, cats or monkeys I have no use : 
the fact is-I am to stingy to feed them. ITI take 
the dust-rag, for I can use that for a table napkin.’ 

A roar of laughter followed. The doctor tied a 
cord around Walter‘s neck and said — 

“Come, Miss Waterman, and take possession of 
your property.’ 

She hesitated, but the girls urged her, saying, 
“Help the doctor out with the lark.’ She then 
went forward, handed the dust-rag to the doctor, 
who handed it to Walter. Miss Waterman then 
took hold of the cord that was around Walter's 
neck, and made an effort to lead liiin down the 
aisle, but he bleated and sAvayed about and finally 
threAv himself on the fioor, Avhich created much 
merriment. 

“What are you going to do Avith him?’ asked 
one. 

“O!’ replied Gertrude, “turn him out to feed 
along the road. I have no pasture for calves.’ 

“Will you sell him?’ asked Manda Ross. 

“Tes,’ replied Gertrude, “He A\as Av^arranted to 
be gentle, but I can do nothing AAuth him; per- 
haps you can coax him. You can have him for a 
song.’ 

“What song? ’asked Manda. 

“Home, SAveet Home.’ replied Gertrude. 

Manda sang out sweet and clear : 

“Be it ever so humlUe, 

There is no place li];e home.” 

When the last note of the song died away Ger- 
trude gave Mandy the cord, saying, “I must go.’ 

164 


and started down tlie aisle. At this juncture Rev. 
Wye came thron.i^h the door and started to go up 
the aisle. He Inid come into the entry at the be- 
ginning of the lark and had over-heard all. On 
seeing him Gertrude stopped and turned pale; he 
walked up to lier, took her hand and spoke to her 
in German. Altliough his look and tone of voice 
was serious, slie made no reply, but simply shook 
her head. His voice became more tender, she re- 
plied to some of his questions; then he spoke in a 
pleading passionate voice, she fixed her eyes on 
his face, still sluiking her head, his voice grew 
husky, her face Hushed, at length a smile parted 
her lips, and she whispered “y^s.’ The minister 
bent and kissed her hand, and she hastened away. 

Rev. Wye looked around on the surprised faces, 
and smiling, said — 

“I presume an explanation is due you. Can any 
of you speak the German tongue?’ asked he. 

‘‘No.’ was the reply. 

“Well, ITl tell all,’ said Rev. Wye, “providing 
you — my brothers and sisters — will first listen to a 
curtain lecture.’ 

“Go on,’ said Dr. Loyd, “we are all attention.^ 

“!,’ said Wye, “heard your frolic. I believe in 
innocent amusement, but there is a place and a 
time for all things; and the Lord‘s house should 
be a house of prayer, and praise, and not a sale- 
room for calves. Yet I do not think it a sin for 
people to be cheerful and enjoy themselves while 
cleaning a church, but you have carried the frolic 
too far. Christ cast out the buyers and sellers in 
liis day, and — ’ 

“Ho!’ interrupted Dr. Loyd, “How many church 
fairs have we attended in the city, and wasn‘t 
there buying and selling, and to the highest bid- 
der? And is it not there that some first acquire 
the taste for gambling ! ’ 

165 


admit that all you say is true, and that is 
why I am against all frolics in church,’ replied the 
minister, “and I'll work for my bread during 
week days before this church shall be made a 
gambling-den to pay me a salary. If donations and 
fairs are held, it must be in a hall or dwelling 
liouse, and they must be void of chance-games. 
Now,’ added he, “let us have reverence for the 
house of the Lord, that our conduct may be in 
keeping with the place.’ 

“And now,’ continued the minister, “now for 
the explanation. You, no doubt, have guessed 
thatMiss Waterman and I have met before ; we were 
schoolmates ; then later, sweethearts ; we were en- 
gaged, but quarreled (no matter about what) and 
parted in anger, and have not met until today. 
We made up, and kissed, as you are our wit- 
nesses,’ he said flushing, “And — well, not long 
hence you will say 'Our pastor and his wife.’ Miss 
Waterman is a school teacher, but being idle this 
fall, and seeing an advertisment in a newspaper 
for a hotel waitress at $4.00 a week, she thought 
to have a little adventure, and you see the result. 
Some may say that our meeting was accidental, 
but I call it providential.’ 

A few weeks later there were three weddings ; 
Manda married the Spotted Calf ; Isabella married 
the doctor, and they went on a short wedding tour; 
and Gertrude married the minister, and immedi- 
ately commenced houskeeping in the parsonage. 
The minister's wife is thought no less of, because 
she once figured as waitress at the hotel. 



16 $ 


FRESH AIR KIDS. 



Here they come, the Fresh Air Kids from the 
smoky tenements of Chicago. 

Yes, hundreds of these slum children are taken 
off at every station along the Great Western line, 
for two weeks of fresh air in the county ; and the 
doors of the farmers, and villagers, are thrown o- 
pen to welcome them. 

Frank Riley received two girls — Kittie Malone, 
and Bessie Boyd. And his son Jim Riley, also 
takes two girls, sisters, age twelve and six years, 
named Jennie and Katie. Sam Deans takes four 
brothers, Tim and Jim Carter twins, aged twelve 
years, and Jess and Jack ten and nine years of 
age. Sylvester Sleek accepts two boys, brothers 
of Jennie and Katie Collins, aged ten and eight 
years. 

We will only mention these, all being in one 
locality, where but few children are. Alice Riley 
aged twelve, being the only young child of the 
families that took them in. 

Never had the woods and cliffs awakened with 
such prolonged shouts, since Jtlie Indians roamed 
the hills, and chased the wild doe through the 
morass. 

We cannot go into details of all their frolics, and 
mischief, hence will only mention a few instances 
to color the character or rather the disposition of 
the children of Chicago slums. 

Bessie, the eldest, an overgrown girl of thirteen 
167 


was not ill to look upon, hut bold and fierce, with 
square jaws, and firm set mouth, dark eyes and 
liair. Under different raising, might have been 
of noble bearing. But little was known of her 
imrentage, except a woman that called herself 
mother, dwelling in a tenement, fell ill and died, 
leaving no trace of her family connections, only 
her name was Boyd. 

The Carters, a rough family who drank exten- 
sively, and living on the same flat, took Bessie 
under their charge at the tender age of six years, 
not having any girl, only tlie four boys before 
mentioned. Bessie was sent out selling flowers, 
while the boys sold papers, and Mr. and Mrs. Car- 
ter used the money. 

The Collins family was an extensive 'one. Jen- 
nie done the household duties, while her mother 
went out washing, and her father worked on the 
railroad. For years they had economized to get 
a little ahead that they might go West, and se- 
cure a home. 

Kittie Malone was fairer, and more important 
tlian the others ; her mother was a widow, and 
supported herself and Kittie with the needle. 

The Kiley homestead was situated on the edge 
of a woodlot, and in the woods by the spring which 
was the source of the creek, stood an old stone 
house whicli was erected in tli 50, s; it had a base- 
ment, second floor and a garret. The stairs was 
in the center of the house, near the old-fashioned 
chimney which reached from cellar to garret. It 
Avas known as the haunted house. Through the 
rickety chimney, and broken window panes, whist- 
led and shrieked, the wind. Bats, hornets, spiders 
and sparrows dwelt in the deserted house top, 
Avhile snakes and skunks had their abode in the 
cellar, joining the basement kitchen. This old 
house was a joy to the kids. At first they ap- 
168 


proached with awe, shortly it became a place of 
gaiety, as well as a place for studying up mischief. 
In going and coming from the place the kids pass- 
ed the cottage of Bridget Malone, who dwelt alone 
in the edge of the woods. She had come fromlre- 
land with her only sister, in girlhood. She hired 
out to an old couple, who owned the eighty of land 
and the same house, in which Bridget still dwelt. 
She was very tidy, but had but little to say toanj^ 
one except on l)usiness. She had a pet dog nam- 
ed Tory, and a cat named Tom, besides a cow and 
some chickens. At the very onset, she detested 
the kids, and they knew it, and the boys delighted 
in tormenting her by chasing the cow, throwing 
sticks at tlie chicken, and dirt at poor Tom. One 
day they succeed in catching Tory, and tied a 
pail to Ids tail. Bridget screamed and scolded 
the boys, while Brazen Bess, as she was called, dis- 
patched the boys with a stick, and released poor 
Tory. 

There were also two spinsters whe were wise e- 
nough to get the good side at the boys, by giving 
them cookies, and talking good to them, and they 
never meddled with their belongings, not even to 
pick a flower in their yard. 

One day keen-eyed Tim saw where his host kept 
a revolver, and one day stole into the room unseen 
and the drawer in which it was kept being locked 
he took out the drawer above, which was not lock- 
ed, and soon secured the coveted prize, and when 
he was safe in the old house with the other boys, 
informed them that he had a revolver and that 
they would have some fresh meat for their dinner ; 
for he could shoot a rabbit and they could make a 
fire in the old fire-place, and roast it on sticks. 

‘‘But,’ said Jimmie Collins, “we promised not 
169 


to make a fire in any place, besides we have not 
got any matches.’ 

‘‘Yes I have,” declared Tim, “I took some from 
the box when no one saw me., 

The Oollins boys remonstrated, but the Carter 
boys ridiculed their timidity. 

The girls were upstairs playing liide-and-go-seek 
so paid no attention to them. 

‘‘Be still,’ said Tim Carter, “If Bess knows of 
our making a fire, she will put it out, and drive 
us out of the house, besides she will tell on us, 
and then we won‘t be trusted anyplace alone, a- 
gain.’ hence the boys quietly made a fire in the 
old fire-place, not knowing that tlie chimney was 
in bad condition. After piling it high with bark, 
and chunks they all went out in the woods to shoot 
a rabbit, while the girls continued to play. The 
stairway door being closed, they did not know 
there was a fire below, until the door was ablaze, 
and smoke streamed into the room, rendering it 
stifling. There were sliutters on the windows of 
the room in Avhich the girls were playing, but they 
had been closed for years, and the hinges rusted 
so tliat that it was impossible to open them. 

“To the garret, quick!’ shouted Bessie, taking 
little Katie Collins in her arms, and frightened 
Alice Kiley by the hand, she cried, “Come Jen- 
nie, up the ladder, and be quick about it.’ 

Selfish, vain, yet pretty, Kittie Malone, went 
first, followed by Jennie and Alice, and Bessie 
went last, carrying weeping Katie in lier arms, 
and before Bessie reached the top of the ladder, 
Kittie had jumped from the garret window to the 
ground, where she lay, oh so still ; but Bessie 
cried : 

“Order now, girls, or we shall all be burned up 
alive, now do as I tell you.’ 

Quick as thought, she snatched up an old blank- 
170 


et whicli they had taken there to sit on, tore it in 
strips and tied them together while the others 
stood gazing at lier, paralyzed with fear, 

“Come to the other window.’ said she. 

The garret was fast filling with smoke, although 
she, thoughtful Bessie, had closed the trap door, 
and the roar and hiss of the fiames were plainly 
Iieard. They went to the other window whicli was 
nearer the ground, then tying one end of the rag 
rope around Katie‘s waist, told her to get out of 
the window. 

“I^m ‘fraid,’ said she. 

‘^But you must.’ commanded Bessie, and she 
did, and Bessie lowered her safely to the ground. 
Then followed Jennie, but Alice Riley‘s heart fail- 
ed her, and Bessie pushed her out as the fiames 
burst into the garret. 

Alice went down so swiftly that the rope was 
snatched from Bessie‘s already blistered hands. 

The smoke was pouring out around Bessie‘s fig- 
ure on the window sill, just as a pose of harvest 
hands appeared on the scene. Half suffocated, 
she lowered herself clinging to the window sill 
with the tips of her fingers, while several strong 
arms beneath, were ready to break her fall. 

‘‘Drop!’ they shouted in chorus as the roof fell 
in, and they caught her, and bore her a safe dis- 
tance away, and none to soon, for the old chimney 
soon tottered and fell with a crash. 

Bessie was singed and unconscious, but was not 
otherwise injured. 

Kittie was at once bourne to the home of Brid- 
get Malone, and a physician sent for, and it Avas 
found that she had broken a limb, and was other- 
wise injured by jumping from the window. 

Bridget proved to be a good nurse, and had as 
kind a heart as ever beat in mortal bosom ; an at- 
tachment soon sprang up between Bridget Malone 
171 


and fair dignified Kittie. Kittie‘s mother was 
sent for, and she prove to be Bridget‘s long lost 
sister, Kathleen. Kittie and her mother did nob 
return to Chicago, but have a happy home with 
Bridget, and Kittie has lost her vanity, and self-* 
ishness and promises to make a noble minded wom- 
an. 

The two elder Carter boys hid in the woods, and 
when found, Tim kept the men at a proper dis- 
tance with the revolver until thfey promised not 
to punish him. They were at once sent back to 
Chicago, and when last heard of they were in the 
Keform School. 

Mr. Kandall, a well-to-do farmer, who owned 
several farms, on learning tliat the Collins family 
wished to leave Chicago and move on to a farm, 
accompanied the children home to see Mr. Collins. 
Arrangements were made, and the Collins family 
soon occupied one of Mr. Kandalbs vacant houses 
and later as they proved themselves worthy, Mr. 
Randall sold them a forty acre farm with build- 
ings on. They are steady, industrious people, and 
possess wisdom, as well as wit. 

As for Bessie, she was called a heroine, and Mr. 
Riley declared that she saved not only the lives 
of Jennie and Katie, but the life of his own daugh- 
ter, and he asked, now subdued Bessie, ,what she 
would most like in the world. 

‘‘Oh,’ replied Bessie, “I wish very much to re- 
main here in God‘s beautiful country. I do not 
ask you to keep me, but find me a place to work. 

I am strong, and willing to work, don‘t send me 
back to those wicked drinking Carter‘s. 

“I‘ll see that the Carter‘s don‘t get you again.’ 
replied Mr. Riley, and lie did. 

Later one of the spinister sisters fell 
no help could be found, Bessie begged that 
might be allowed to, at least try to help them, ' 
172 


and they consented to try her. And she was so 
thoroughly faithful, that she won not only their 
respect, but in the course of time, their admira- 
tion, for there had been such a change in her man- 
ners, since people had taken an interest in her, 
and given her a chance to make something of her- 
self. On seeing her gratitude, and how quick, 
and willing she was to learn all kinds of work, 
they gave her permission to remain for the win- 
ter, work for her board and attend school, an offer 
which she gladly accepted, and she proved herself 
greatM, far beyond their expectations. 

' CTTie evening two tramps walked in without 
knocking, and demanded supper. The sisters were 
much frightened, and hastened to obey orders 
while Bessie hid herself in a closet near the kitch 
en door. The sisters had roasted two chickens 
that day, being fond of cold chicken, besides it 
came handy for Bessie's luncheon at school, and 
there being one whole one left, they set it on the 
table without carving, being in haste to serve the 
unbidden guests, hoping that when they had sat-- 
isfied their hunger,they would take their departure | 
One of them was so greedy, that he took the whole 
chicken and placed it on his plate, and was about 
to carve it when it crowed three times in succes- 
sion. 

"What does this mean?’ said he, shaking with 

,’ said the headless chicken, that the 
devil is in me, and whomsoever consumes me, 
shall have the devil in them, and shall run into a 
spring-hole and drown themselves.’ 

Then the chicken began to laugh and crow al- 
ternately. The tramps sprang from the table, and 
out of the door, and ran down the road at full 
speed, never looking Ijehind them, while Bessie 
stood ^triumphantly watching them disappe^ 
173 



while the spinsters stood paralyzed with .fear, as 
much frightened at the talking chicken, as they 
were of the tramps. 

Bessie explained to them, that she was a vantril- 
oqiiist, and had frightened many people in tlie 
city, but she had promised the liome missionaries, 
if they would send her to the country, that sJie 
would not frighten any one in tlie country. 

“But,’ said Bessie, “I have not kept my prom- 
ise so I have told a lie. Must I go back to the 
city?’ 

“No, dear, No. You shall stay here.^ replied 
the sisters in chorus. 



Martha Goodwin’s Help. 

“Now, Martha, my dear wife, it is all nonsense 
for you to work so hard. True, my salary as a 
home missionary is not large, but Ave have some 
money of our oavu — sufticieiit to last us until our 
children are grown and able to take care of them- 
selves. It is a sin for you to kill yourself by over 
exertion, wlieii those little ones need a mother‘s 
care for many years lienee.’ said Kev. Goodwin, 
^one bright summer morning. 

Mrs. Goodwin turned with a smile althougli 
tears Avere in her eyes. She had been homesick 
since their sojourn in the half-civilized part of 
south Missouri. Her husbaiurs circuit Avas among 
174 


the unlettered class in a mountainous district. 

“Thank you, Edwin,’ but where are we to find ef- 
ficient help among these barefooted, tangled-hair- 
ed daughters of Eve. 

“That is what was passing on my mind, dear.’ 
said he, “But wife, I am sure you have the true 
missionary spirit; now can‘t you take into our 
home one of these overgrown, unlettered girls, and 
teach lier the art of housekeeping? The craft will 
be of far greater value than the wages we may 
pay her. Yes, housewifery is a thing much need- 
ed in these parts, and if you could teach one ; oth- 
ers, seeing the good work, might be better.’ 

“Yet, husband, be considerate,’ said Mrs. Good- 
win, “think what it means to take a semi-heathen 
in our home among the children.’ 

“My dear wife.’ said he, “ We have come here 
as God‘s missionaries, trusting ourselves to His 
care ; we must also trust the children He has giv- 
en us, to His care. You are a Martha indeed, 
troubled about many things.’ 

“I do not deny your assertion, Edwin, yet you 
will admit that the bible says — we must shun all 
appearances of evil, “Yet if you insist, find one 
if you can, that is willing to figure as a hired girl. 
Most of the people around liere look down on work 
as if it were beneath a white man^s dignity.’ 

“Well, I am going up the mountains to visit 
several families, and when I return tomorrow 1 
will bring you a girl, and after you teach her to 
work, you can accompany me on visits.’ said Rev. 
Goodwin, adding “Then my work will progress 
much faster. You have no idea how much influ- 
ence a minister‘s wife has over her husband's 
flock.’ 

Mrs. Goodwin's heart was filled with vague ap- 
prehensions as slie watched her husband drive a- 
way. 


175 


As for Rev. Goodwin, his bosom swelled high 
with faith, and his thoughts ran thus — “Yes, I 
shall live to see the day when all the mountain 
people are not only saved souls, but an educated 
people, not living in huts, but in comfortable 
homes, tidily kept. And well-dressed church- 
members will fill chapels on the mountain side, 
where tongue and organ will resound with praise 
to God, every Sabbath morning, noon, and even- 
ing. Yes, there will be chapels, where now tlie 
moonshine whiskey is drank in haunts of vicious- 
ness. God can and will bring all this to pass, and I 
believe He Avill make Edwin Goodwin instrumen- 
tal in bringing it to pass.’ And breathing in tlie 
invigorating mountain air, he leisurely rode on un- 
til mid-day; then coming to a windowless log hut, 
he reined in his horse. A woman with a pipe in 
her mouth, and long tangled hair, came to the 
door, while children of various heights, clad in 
filthy tattered garments, stopped their play and 
stared at him. 

“Where is the — the — ’ said Rev. Goowdin, hesi- 
tatingly. 

“Boss, you mean.’ snarled the sinister looking 
female. 

“Yes,’ replied the minister, “if that is what 
you call your husband.’ 

“That^s just what I don‘t call Sam, for he ‘aint 
boss here; I‘m boss of these diggings; the house 
and land is mine, and he daren’t do a thing unless 
I says he can,’ said she. 

“Who be you? and asking me that,Iwith yer fine 
clothes on ; maybe yer is one of them detective 
nosing out what is done in the mountains. If yer 
])e, 1 can tell yer ye‘d better be making tracks, 
for if them there Williams’ boys get their eyes on 
yer, yer'll disappear like that other fine gentle- 
man did, that pretended to be interested in moun- 
171 


tain coming up liere. Well he kept on nosing a 
round ‘till he thought he had found something, and 
was going to squeal, when his squeal was shut otf 
by the white-cai)s, now he squeals no more. If 
yer don‘t believe it yer can turn tu the right and 
go down into a holler, there ye ‘11 see a big stump 
all black, and maybe some bones laying around if 
the dogs ‘aint carried them otf. And that‘s the 
way they ‘11 fix ye if they catch ye.’ said the wo- 
man, with a wily grin, and she pointed a long 
dirty finger at him. 

“I am not a detective. Madam, but a minister 
of the gospel. My mission is ‘peace on earth and 
good will to men’.’ said Kev. Goodwin. 

“A minister? What’s that? Polly Ann, yer so 
smart since yer went to skule. Now, tell, if yer 
can.’ sneeringly said the woman to the largest of 
the group of children about the doorway. 

“Why ! Ma, d()n‘t yer know? It‘s a preacher- 
man. I heard him talk in our school house a few 
weeks ago. Don‘t yer mind how I w^as telling pap 
about dead folks rising from their graves? And 
that there is a good place where good folks go to, 
and a bad place where bad folks go, and ‘aint hap- 
py any more, and money won‘t do them any good.’ 
said the girl who stood combing her long black 
hair. 

The old hag gave a long whistle then said — ‘‘If 
folks rise from the dead, I pity them Williams 
boys; but you can‘t stuff such lies down me.’ 

“You seem quite in the dark, madam.’ said the 
minister. 

“Yes, I should say it is dark, dark as a hole in 
the ground, and I‘ve been nagging at Sam for years 
to saw out a winder, but he always says, ‘Wait a 
bit, Suke, there is all day tomorrow that ‘aint 
been touched yet’.’ said she. 

177 


was referring‘to spiritual darkness.’ said Eev. 
Goodwin. 

‘‘You‘d better shut yer yop if yer wants to save 
yer head. We know our spirits are made in a 
dark place, and they call it moonshine whiskey, 
but that is our business, no one else^s.’ retorted 
the old woman. 

Rev. Goodwin's heart sank. It did not seem as 
if there was any way tliat he could throw light in- 
to her darkened mind ; her soul seemed as win- 
dowless as her liouse. At last a thought struck 
him. It is the youth wherein liope lies. He 
thought of the help his wife needed, and as he 
looked at Polly Ann he was sure his wife could 
make something of her; then, perhaps that very 
creature, later, might work as a reformer among 
lier benighted people. So he broached the sub- 
ject cautiously, never hinting the name of servant. 
He stated tliat his wife could not go out as she 
had no one to leave with the children ; and that 
they would like a girl about Polly's age to look 
after the children sometimes while his wife went 
with him to visit the people. Besides, his 
wife would teach her sewing, fancy Avork, and 
housework, and would help her Avith her books al- 
so. 

The AA^onian curled her lips in derision, and said 
— "What is the use of knoAving hoAV to seAV Avhen 
yer h'aint got a thing to seAV on? and Iioav can yer 
make fancy-AAwk out of air? As for cooking. Pol- 
ly Ann can make a hoe-cake, and roast taters and 
'possums; guess she could teach yer Avife that. 
And books, I'm just sick and tired of the sight of 
'em, she keeps 'em hid or I'd burn 'em.’ 

"Ma, yer just shet yer mouth, I'm going liome 
Avith the preacher-man. I Avant to knoAV some- 
thing, and I'm going ter. Pap Avill say he don't 
care.’ 


178 


“Set up to the table, Mr., the hoe-cake is done, 
so are the taters and bacon,’ said Polly Ann. 

Eev. Goodwin accepted, and did justice to what 
was set before him, asking no questions, but let- 
ting the food stoi) liis mouth, thinking the least 
said, the better. As soon as his hunger was ap- 
peased he arose, thanking them, and took his de- 
parture, leaving a quarter in the hag‘s hand. 

“Stop when yer go hum and I‘ll go with yer.’ 
said Polly Ann. 

Rev. Goodwin visited several homes, of which 
the afore mentioned was a fair specimen. But 
where he remained over night, the house was 
somewhat better — it having two rooms, with holes 
cut througli tlie walls for windows, where the air 
circulated freely. He shared his bunk with one 
of the boys of tlie family, said bunks being made 
on the door, as were several others in the same 
room, for other inmates of the family. 

When he arrived at cabin No. 1, the next day, 
there stood Polly Ann, with a bundle in her arms, 
awaiting him. She was tall, lank girl of perhaps 
fifteen years, with long black hair, and black eyes. 
Her dress was short; her feet bare, and scratched 
by briers, as she had been picking berries, On 
her head was a hat of her own manufacture ; it 
might have interested an Indian chieftan, at least 
it showed crude art. Pap, as she called him came 
to the door and said — 

“Well, stranger, yer want my gal, don‘t yer? 
ye must give me two dollars, now, for her work, 
tlien I‘ll wait and take the rest as she earns it. 
My old woman is dog-on-ed mad because I let her 
go, yer can see that by Polly Ann‘s blackened 
eye. She‘d a killed her, most, if I hadn‘t a knock- 
ed her down.’ 

Rev. Goodwin shuddered as he listened to Sam 
Beasom's talk* and, mentioning the threatening 

179 


rain-clou(^?, took his departure. Mrs. Gooo\vin‘s 
face was a study when her husband x)reseiited the 
mountain lassie to her, yet she hid her niisgiv- 
iugs, and gave her a warm welcome. 

“Ah! yes,’ she sighed to herself, “this is a 
mountain lamb ; and if I follow Christ, I must, at 
least, try to get her into the fold. Oh! God, give 
me grace.' she prayed. Surely, abundant grace 
was needed in the days that followed. Polly liad 
not been accustomed to i^erforming work to any 
great extent; the most she thought of was comb- 
ing her long black hair. When Mrs. Goodwin 
asked her to wash dishes, she looked surprised and 
asked — 

“What fer you wash dishes, they ^11 get dirty a- 
gain?’ 

“Does not your people wash dishes after each 
meal?’ asked Mrs. Goodwin in surprise. 

“The dog licks ‘em out. But wlien we have 
company we wash ‘em. Maw is an awful neat 
woman.’ replied Polly. 

“Well, if you stay with us, you must do as we 
do, and I will show you how.’ said Mrs. Goodwin, 

“Yep, I do that.’ said Polly, and she set out to 
wash dishes. Plies light on her bare feet, she 
takes the dishcloth and slaps her feet with it, then 
proceeds to count those she has slain. This an- 
noys Mrs. Goodwin yet she remonstrates in a quiet 
tone. 

“Polly, dear, that is not nice; give me the 
clotli;’ Mrs. Goodwin washes it out, then proceeds 
to wash the dishes herself, explaining how it 
should be done. She gave Polly a towel to dry 
the dishes. It required mucli quiet, earnest talk 
to teach her tlie simplest forms of cleanliness and 
order. 

Mrs. Goodwin had taken mucli pains to show her 
how to light a fire in the kitchen stove, (the girl 

180 


had known naught but fireplaces.) Mrs Goodwin 
had used waste paper and kindlings Avliich she 
whittled from a board, with an old knife. A few 
days later Mrs. Goodwin trusted Polly to make a 
fire alone, while she was endeavoring to get her 
sewing done. 

Rev. Goodwin quite lost his temper when he 
learned that she had used his razor to cut the 
kindling; and for paper she had used several 
leaves from his large family bible. To his hasty 
words of reproof, the ignorant child gave impu- 
dent replies. He in the heat of his wrath would 
have said much more, but on receiving a glance 
from his wife, he changed his tone of voice and 
spoke kindly to her explaining the proper use of 
things. Worse than work on Mrs. Goodwin was her 
endeavors to teach the mountain child and endure 
her unruly tongue. “She is a white Topsy,’ thought 
Mrs. Goodwin. But the hardest to bear, was her 
slapping the children across the mouth or on the 
ears, on the slightest provocation; a thing she had 
])een permitted to do at home with her brothers 
and sisters, whom she ruled Avith a iron hand. Mrs. 
(oMKlwin endured it all for several weeks as Polly 
learned readily to do sewing and house-work, and 
in books she made rapid progress. And, too, a 
wave of peace rolled over her at times as she 
tliought of the good seed she was sowing by the 
wayside. What might the harvest be? 

The dresses and other articles of clothing that 
Mrs. GoodAvin made for Polly made quite an im- 
provement in her looks. And she began to imi- 
tate Mrs. GoodAvin in speech and manners; and in 
the feAV months of her sojourn in the Goodwin 
household, there AA'as a decided change, for the 
better, in the mountain lass. 

Unfortunately for Polly, Mrs. GoodAvin fell ill, 
and her husband Avrote north to her sister, asking 
181 


her for dear Martlia‘s sake to come and remain 
with them for a few weeks. And Polly went home 
though loath to do so, hut consented when Mrs. G — 
kindly told her how much good slie could do 
at home teaching her little brothers and sisters, 
and tidying up their own home. 

‘‘Yes,’ she sighed, ^‘If I can get father to saw 
out some AvindoAvs, and buy a stoA^e. And, too, I 
belieA^e that if father would buy shoes, like yours, 
for mother, that she AA^ould be too proud to go so 
ragged and dirty.’ There Avere tears in lier eyes 
as Rev. Goodwin drove aAvay Avith her to her moun- 
tain home. She promised him that his God should 
be her God, and that she AV^ould teacli those around 
lier about the loving Savior. 

She had been gone a month and Mrs. GoodAvin‘s 
health Avas much improved. One day just at ev- 
entide Polly Beasom rushed in. 

“Where is Mr. Goodwin.’ she cried, as if in ter- 
ror. 

“Here.’ said the goodman of the house. 

“Fly ! hy for your life. The White-Oaps Avill be 
here at midnight, and the likelihood is that you 
Avill neA^er see sunrise again, that is if they 'catch 
you.’ said Polly. 

“What does that mean?’ demanded he. 

“I means that the boys suspect that you are an- 
other detective in disguise, noAV go quickly for a 
terrible death will be yours if they find you here. 
You Avere up among the clifl’s alone, and Si Sand- 
ers saAV you looking into a hole, and — Avell, that is 
the place Avliere they make moonsliine Avhiskey, 
and they think you aauII tell on tliem.’ said Polly. 

“Do save yourself, cried liis sister-in-laAV, “If 
they should kill you it AA^ould kill your Avife; then 
Avhat AA^ould become of your little ones.’ 

“Noav, Sofa, do you supi^ose I can go away and 
leave my Avife and children, and yourself, to the 
182 


mercy of these lawless men?’ asked Rev. Good- 
win. 

Tlie combined efforts of both Polly and his fam- 
ily could not persuade him to flee for safety and 
leave his loved ones unprotected. 

“Well, then, if you will not go, we must pre- 
pare to defend ourselves. 1 have two weapons 
that I stole from the gang. My fatiier is one of 
them ; he did not want to be for he is too lazy, 
but mother made him join, as two of her brothers 
are among the leaders.’ said Polly, she then con- 
tinued, “Here, Mr. Goodwin, you take this re- 
volver and cartridges, and I‘ll keep this one. And 
now I want a suit of your clothes. I am as tall as 
you, and the more men folks there are here, the 
i)etter, besides if I am recognized and suspected 
of Avarning you, my life is not AAmrtli a pinch of 
snuff; they‘d shoot me doAvn like a dog.’ 

Polly then donned a suit of the Rev. Edwin 
Goodwin* s clothes, drew her hair up into a knot 
on tlie top of her head, and put on one of his caps. 
TJie others proceeded to make the house as secure 
as possible, piling feather-beds and matresses a- 
gainst the windoAVs, etc. 

Rev. GoodAvin Avent about the AA'ork composed, 
knoAving that God could keep them from harming 
him. He took the Av^eapon Polly proff ered him, say- 
ing— 

**Yes, I knoAV hoAV to slioot, but liaA'e not carried 
a Aveapon since I AA^as discharged from the army. 
Even noAV I shall not use it unless to defend one 
of my family, but I believe I shall not be called 
upon to kill or Avound a fellow creature. 

After the liouse Avas rendered as safe as possible 
Rev. Goodwin read a passage of scripture, tlien ut- 
tered an earnest prayer. 

It AA'as midnight Avlien an attack was made on 
the front door. 


183 


Mr. Goodwiu, in a loud voice cried — '‘In the 
name of the Lord who is there.' 

“The devil,’ was the response. 

Polly now took the cap from lier head, snatched 
Rev. Goodwin's hat from the stand, and after put- 
ting it on, unlocked and rushed out of the back 
door. A yell arose, shots were fired, and all left 
in pursuit; none returned. With eyes red with 
weeping, for wliat might have been the fate of 
Polly, the Goodwin family started out for a little 
railroad station the next day, and from thence they 
went north. 

It was twenty-five years before tliey learned the 
fate of Polly. Rev. Goodwin then went to south 
Missouri to see the country once more, and, if pos- 
sible, learn of Polly's fate. He found a very large 
church near the site of his former dwelling house, 
and a neat parsonage near by. On enquiry he was 
surprised to learn that Polly was the pastor's wife. 
She told her story briefly as follows — 

“On rushing out of the back door, all folloAved 
me as I expected they would, I did not stop to re- 
turn their shots but made a dasli for the woods 
where I evaded them. They pursued me for many 
miles, several times I escaped by shooting the 
foremost; no, I did not kill any but wounded sev- 
eral, (my father was one of the wounded). And 
all the time tliey thought it was you they were 
pursuing. When day broke I hid. They gave up 
the chase that day. That evening I set out for 
the city’ which I reached after two days. When 
once there I made quick work, wliich i:)roved an ar- 
rest of the White-caps, and tlie law dealt with 
them as they deserved. I made friends by so do- 
ing, attended school, and later marricMl a minis- 
ter, and for many years we hav(‘ resided here. 
Much evil still exists in the mountains, but slow- 
184 


ly ‘tis passing away, and many are striving to fol- 
low the Redeemer.’ 



Mrs. Porter’s April Story. 




Oh, horrors, what weather ! The worst month 
in the year; mud, mud; rainy and foggy. I‘d com- 
mit suicide if this lasted the year around. Here 
AveVe been trying to clean house ; the sun came out 
bright this morning, but just as we got the bed- 
ding on the line a shower came up and we had to 
hurry it in ; and since the rain if has been foggy ; 
and all day I‘ve felt as though I‘d like to cry but 
could not, hence I‘ve fretted and kept the house- 
hold gloomy. 

But isn‘t it terrible — four children home from 
school, and the baby creeping about the lloor wip- 
ing up the mud the children bring in on their 
shoes, and all my labor for nothing, and yours too ; 
but of course it does not make any difference to 
you as you are paid by the day, said Mrs. White 
to Mrs. Porter her helper in housecleaning. 

Oh, yes, Mrs. White, I love fine weather, es- 
pecially in house-clean time, for one feels better, 
in spirit if nothing more, besides when I work 1 
like to see it do some good. Would you like to 
hear the sad story of my life? asked Mrs. Porter 


185 


I had a family like yours ouce, and fretted over 
mud and dirt, making myself and every one else 
miserable. 

Yes, said Mary a girl of twelve years. 

Yes, do, joined in the other children, we will 
keep still as mice, and baby is asleep, and pa lias 
not come yet, and the preacher our boarder won‘t 
hear, as he is up in his room writing his sermon. 

Yes Mrs. P — I second the children's motion said 
Mrs. White, we will not try to clean more until 
the weather clears, your pay shall go on neverthe- 
less. Thus urged, Mrs. Porter began. 

It Avas thirty years ago this very month, my 
husband and I and five children lived on a farm 
near Hamden, Iowa; our eldest was a girl of elev- 
en years, our baby was one year old. The weather 
was very much like this — ^so Avet my husband could 
not Avork in the field so he helped me about clean- 
ing, doing the Avhite-washing, moving heaA\v ar- 
ticles, etc. Our three little boys, Tom, aged nine ; 
Fred and Jim, aged seven and five years, Avore 
boots instead of fine shoes and rubbers, as lioys do 
now. Those bright little felloAvs kept running in 
and out bringing in mud. There Avas mud on the 
chairs, mud on the stairs, and mud on eA’erything 
and everAAdiere. It‘s a fact, I scolded until i cried, 
but my hus])and, aaJio Avas a patient man, said — 
never mind, Nancy, Ave sliall not ahvays liave lit- 
tle boys, they Avill groAV up and go aAvay then Ave 
will not have mud in our house. 

That very night our little Ted Avas taken very ill. 
We summoned a physician the next morning* he 
pronounced it diptheria, and avo Avere quarantined 
at once. 

To try to go througli tliose three terrible Aveoks 
would be very painful to me, so I Avill merely give 
the outline. Little Teddy died in five days. My 
husband buried him alone. Then Martha and lit- 

188 


tie Jim were stricken with the disease. Two days 
later Tom came down and I worked night and 
day in hopes of saving some of our precious child- 
ren. No one but the doctor entered the house; 
neighbors came to the gate bringing us everything 
they could imagine that would be of service to us. 
Tommy and little Jim ])oth died the same day, af- 
ter ten days illness. The doctor helped my hus- 
band bury them; the neighbors digging the dou- 
l)le grave and purchasing the coffins. Martha liv- 
ed six days and we felt sure she would survive, 
but she dropped off witli heart failure while comb- 
ing her hair. The doctor assisted my husband to 
lay her away. Then we began preparations to 
cleane the house, but my husband complained of 
being tired, and said he must rest first. Imagine 
my feelings, if you can, when the doctor told me, 
he, too, had the dread disease, and that very 
night my husband died. It seems he had been 
attacked with the disease the day before, but liQ 
feared to tell me. The health commissioners as- 
sisted in interring my husband. Then baby and 
I were left alone. Oh! how I prayed God to 
spare him to me. 

The house was thoroughly disinfected and many 
article were burned. I remained at home for three 
weeks then was allowed to go out. The neighbors 
had cared for the stock from the first, and put the 
crops in. Later I rented the farm and sold the 
stock to pay the debts. 

Oh, I cannot describe my feelings the first time 
I visited the grave-yard after their death. It was 
the first of May, and had been raining. O, those 
five clay-covered graves? How awful they ap- 
peared to me. Oh! mud, yes mud, my darlings, 
so dear to me, lay under the mud. Yes my house 
would stay clean now. 

How I begged God to let me keep my baby boy. 

187 


I named him Moses— Moses Manning was his 
name, Manning being my first husband‘s name. 
I promised God to raise the child in the way he 
should go. I taught him prayers, hymns, and bi- 
ble verses as soon as he could lisp words. I would 
not let him attend school lest he might be con- 
taminated by playing with other children in my 
absence. By the time he was ten years old he 
was a walking encyclopedia, and a bible boy. In 
fact lie could recite whole chapters of the bible. By 
the time he was fifteen I could teach him no more 
but lie remained at home with me a year — read- 
ing and studying music, going to town ao take les- 
sons. 

At sixteen he left me for the city. O ! pity 
him — a mere child with no actual experience — a 
target for their cruel taunts; he was called a calf, 
a lamb, a gosling, and an angel. If I‘d had the 
money I should have moved to the city, but it was 
necessary for me to remain on the farm where I 
could make considerable money with chickens, 
bees and fruit. Although I rented the land, I had 
the garden and orchard. When my boy came 
home at the end of the first year of school, he said 
with defiance in his eye. Now mother I am sev- 
enteen years old; I shall purchase my own cloth- 
ing, and run my own affairs. I cannot and will 
not be a laughing stock for the other students. As 
otliers do, I shall do. 

O ! said I with a wail — my boy, my boy, I prom- 
ised you to the Lord. You won‘t drink, smoke, 
swear, nor gamble will you? 

Well, said he with a look of contempt. If you 
have promised me to the Lord, leave me to Him, 
will you? Your faith is vain if you do not. 

He returned to school; many were his calls for 
money, and I had to go) short to supply his con- 
stant demand. When the year closed he wrote me he 
188 ^ 


was going to spend the vacation with classmates, 
and to send him more money. I did so but had to 
give my note for it. 

Still larger sums were demanded the second 
year, and as the crops were a failure, and my 
chickens died with cholera, I mortgaged the farm 
to pay the notes and send him more money. Fi- 
nally Ids letters stopped, and on my writing an 
inquiry, I received a letter stating that he had 
been suspended for gambling, and that he had 
left tlie city, leaving his board bill and other debts 
unpaid. 

I then sold the farm, and after paying his debts 
had but little left. That was eleven years ago. I 
liave never heard from my boy since, but I still 
pray for him. I dedicated him to God in his in- 
fancy. He will yet bring him home to heaven 
even if I never meet him again on earth. Sure, I 
overdid the matter in his training ; early I should 
have taught him to stand alone and let him as- 
sociate with the other children, then he would 
have been the better prepared to resist temptation. 
After selling the farm, I worked about for a time, 
then later, married a man by the name of Porter. 
I thought him good, but he led me a terrible life 
for three years, then died with ‘‘snakes in his 
boots.’ I then did fine sewing a few months, but 
as my eyesight began to fail me, I‘ve done wash- 
ings and house-cleaning, and have drifted into the 
country for my health's sake. 

A sound of footsteps descending the stairs no- 
tified them that the minister was coming — the 
staircase door opened into the sitting room. As 
the minister stepped into the room, Mrs. White 
arose to prepare supiDer. 

As Mrs. White entered the kitchen, the minis- 
ter walked over to Mrs. Porter and placing his 

189 


hand on her bowed head, said, Mother, do you not 
recognize me? 

O! cried Mrs. Porter, my Moses, my boy! 

He knelt at her knee asking her pardon and bless- 
ing, which she freely gave. Later he informed 
her of his profligate life, them how he was mirac- 
ulously saved from a hotel fire, and how he had 
promised God, if He would spare his life, he would 
spend the remainder of it in his service, which he 
had faithfully done. 

He had sought for his mother, but in vain ; he 
had decided by what little he could learn, that 
she was dead. 

Although he had met her a few times, he had 
not recognized her, as her raven hair was now 
white, and her jet black eyes were screened by 
green glasses. 

On hearing her story, through the medium of 
the register in the floor, he knew he had found 
his mother, and rejoiced. 

The country parsonage is now occupied by the 
Kev. M. D. Manning and his mother. 

After many days the desire of our hearts are 
granted, if we do as commanded. 



190 


ON THE WAVES 


Zulu, dear, coiiie here. 

What is it mother, are you worse today? Zula 
sits down hy her mother's cot and takes her thin 
hand in hers. 

Zula, my child, continued Mrs. Oastiola, the 
doctor says my time on earth is short, and I must 
put my house in order. Your father is not dead, 
as you liave ahvays supposed. 

Not dead, mother; what do yoii mean — are you 
not a widow? said Zula excitedly. 

Be quiet and I will tell you the story of my ear- 
ly life, said Mrs. Oastiola. 

Well, I was a foolish girl, my father's only child 
and heir. My mother died when 1 was but three 
years old, and I had always been petted and flat- 
tered by outsiders, and also by the servants. My 
father borrowed no trouble about me; I read nov- 
els, and had my way in everything, right or wrong, 
until I was sixteen. Our home was in Maine, and 
father was wealthy. A young Mexican came to 
our city to study medicine, and I formed his ac- 
quaintance ; and in course of time we were engag- 
ed. He was a minor still, about twenty years of 
age; and I, and as I said, I was sixteen. He 
proposed to speak to my father regarding the mat- 
ter, but I said — No, let us elope, like they do in 
novels, then come back for father's blessing; he 
smiled and said — I presume I ought to write to 
my guardian about this affair, as I am a minor. I 
191 


pouted, then said — just as if we are not competent 
to judge for ourselves, is it not us that the affair 
concerns, and not my father nor your crusty guard- 
ian? Now, demanded I, we‘ll go where no license 
is needed and get married, V\e got plenty of mon- 
ey, and we‘ll get our names in thepaper that way. 
He shook his head and said — it will never do. 

Then, good-day, said I, and cdurtesied myself out 
of the room. A few days later I received a note 
from him asking me to meet him at a certain 
place, at a stated time, and we would go and be 
married in the manner wished. We were married 
and after taking a short wedding tour returned 
home. We found my father in a rage ; and your 
father\s guardian present, and furious. He stat- 
ed that your father was the son of a bankrupt 
Spanish count, a distant relative of his, and he 
liad promised him on his dying bed, to educate his 
son, and then marry him to his only daughter and 
lieir. He had sent him away to be educated, fear- 
ing the young people, if together, would regard 
each otlier as brother and sister. He had hoped 
that in time they Avould fall ir love with each 
otlier without his help. 

And, quoth he (turning to your father) young 
man, you must return with me, you have not a 
penny of your own, besides I raised you; a divorce 
can be obtained in time, and Inez shall not know of 
this, she loves you, for she told me so. 

Your father remonstrated — said he would nev- 
er leave me : my father favored all his guardian 
proposed. 

The following day my father‘s business was 
closed, gone with the crash of other firms. His 
creditors were clamorus, and your father^s guar- 
dian surmised that he had encouraged our marri- 
age, thinking your father wealthy. 

Father‘s mind gave way and he committed sui- 
192 


cide. Oh! that was the blackest day of my life. 

Your father was drawn over to the enemy by 
threats, and he disappeared. 

I was the last of the family, with two disgraces 
to cloud my life, wliat could I do but accept any 
terms that your fa therms guardian might propose. 

And that was to come here to Chicago to live, 
and have no communication whatever with any of 
my acquaintances, and he would allow me $800 a 
year. I accepted his terms, and after you were 
born, my lawyer wrote him the fact, and he has al- 
lowed me $1200 a year since. 

In due time a divorce was obtained, and you 
were left in my charge as long as I lived, but if I 
died before you 1)ecame of age, your father could 
claim you. I had hoped to live until you were 
twenty-one, but '^God‘s will not mine be done.” 
After God calls me home you will go to your fath- 
er in Mexico if he wishes it. 

But what of my father, did he marry again? 
asked Zula. 

Yes soon after the divorce was granted he mar- 
ried his guardian‘s daughter, who was a widow 
with one child, and much older than himself. God 
help you my child, faintly said Mrs. Oastiola. ‘‘He 
works in mysterious ways his wonders to perform.” 
You are cast on the waves, my precious child ; 
life‘s sea is rough, yet ever bear in mind when 
the billows roar, that Jesus still walks on the sea 
of life, listen to his voice — “It is I, be not afraid.’ 
If He is for you, who can be against you? He 
reigns in Mexico as well as in Chicago. I tried to 
lay by some of my income, but it required it all 
to educate you. I heard your father had no other 
child, and i also heard that his wife and guardian 
were both dead. 

O ! I am so tired, exclaimed Mrs. Castiola, and 
she fell asleep ne‘er to waken more in this world. 

193 


The lawyer informed Zula‘s father of her moth- 
er's death, and he sent for his daughter to come 
to Sabinas, Mexico, at once. 

In her robes of black, and a sad lonely heart, s he 
set out on her journey accompanied by her law- 
yer. 

At Sabinas they met a young man who affirmed 
he was her father's substitute and step-son. The 
lawyer returned, and she with her new protector 
went to a Mexican ranch some few miles out of 
the city limits. 

She found her father a helpless invalid. When 
she was ushered into his presence and left alone 
with him he clasped her hand and wept like a 
child. 

Zula, my child, he exclaimed, how much you 
resemble your mother. O, how I loved her. I 
have been married twice, but never loved either 
of them. Cortez Othleo has been a good son to me, 
but I hated his mother. She had married when 
very young, while away at school, and unbeknown 
to her father, for it was his wish to keep her sin- 
gle until I was grown and educated. And when a 
son-in-law appeared on the scene, he feigned 
friendship for him; but one day when they were 
out hunting Othleo' s father was accidently shot. 
At least such was the report, I only had my guard- 
ian's word for it. Well, after that divorce was 
granted I married Inez, but we were not happy. 
Little Othleo (or Oortez, as some call him) and I 
have lived for each other. His mother despised 
him because he loved me. I think her mind was 
affected by the killing of her liusband. She often 
told lier father that he shot him intentionally, 
whicli made cyclones in the family. One day he 
was not well, she missed him, and to the surprise 
of all he died suddenly ; there was no investiga- 
194 


tion. Soon after she died also. 

I remained a widower ten years, then married 
my present wife — a widow with three children — 
those two girls you saw here, and a son who is a- 
way at school. That was my third mistake, my 
life has been full of bitterness, but I have made 
my peace with God and hope to meet your moth- 
er in that fair land over there where we shall part 
no more , 

While I was a widower I wrote to your mother 
several times but received no response. I could not 
blame her for not forgiving me. O! if I had only 
clung to her. Sure our marriage was a mistake but 
our parting doubly so. 

You had better go to your room now, my dear, 
and rest, then dress for dinner. He kissed her 
fondly. She assured him that she felt confident 
that her mother had never received a letter from 
him ; and, too, that her mother loved him, and 
had died chiefly of a broken heart. She had had 
offers of marriages from the wealthy, but had ac- 
cepted none. 

His face brightened, and he said, smiling, she 
will meet me then at the Beautiful Gate. 

Zula was then guided to her room by a servant 
who could not speak English, but insisted on comb- 
ing and curling her hair, and helping her to don a 
black muslin dress trimmed with lace, she then 
fastened a bunch of white flowers at her throat 
and in her hair, and as she glanced in tlie mirror, 
thoiigli sad her heart, she was pleased with her 
looks. 

At the table she met for the first time Mrs. Oas- 
tiola No. 8. Her two daughters, Isabella and Oar- 
lotta, aged respectively twenty-five .and twenty- 
three, were both stately and dark like their moth- 
er. 

Othleo who could speak English well introduced 

195 


them, then apologized saying that he regretted 
very much that they could not speak the English 
language, nor she the Spanish. 

They were very polite to her, showing that they 
were ladies both by birth and culture. Othleo 
made himself agreeable, and acted as interpreter. 
After the meal was over he escorted them out for 
a walk in the lawn. 

The house itself was a mansion, with its garden, 
orchard, and lawn inclosed by a high wall. Foun- 
tains played — fish danced in the crystal waters ; 
birds sang in cages; flowers, shrubs, and fruit 
trees were everywhere. It was an Eden of beau- 
ty. Her eyes feasted on the loveliness of the 
scene, and Othleo^s feasted on her unnoticed by 
her, yet not by the others. Unconcious she smil- 
ed on all until the sun sank in a cloud of glory in 
the west, casting a halo on the mountain tops far 
away. And as the moon slowly rose she was ush- 
ered into parlors magnificent in richness and col- 
ors, paintings and statuary. 

The sisters sang and played on stringed instru- 
ments, Othleo joining them a part of the time ; all 
was in Spanish, yet she was aware they had been 
well trained. They asked her to sing in her lan- 
guage and play on the piano, but she plead wear- 
iness and declined. Before going to her room she 
was allowed to call on her father, who had grown 
weak witli the excitement of her coming. She 
sang ‘‘Nearer my God to Thee” for him, at his re- 
quest, and he dropped to sleep. 

When left alone in her room for the night Zula‘s 
bosom was filled with vague apprehensions. She 
was with Spanish-Mexicans, she had heard they 
were a blood-thirsty lot. Her father was of Span- 
ish descent, though of Mexican birth, and was 
powerless to protect her, could not leave his couch 
alone. His guardian had doubtless murdered his 
196 


son-in-law ; and his second wife had, without a 
doubt poisoned lier father and herself. The black 
searching eyes of step-mother and daughters with 
their raven hair, would rise up before her like 
crows whenever she closed her eyes. She arose 
and went to a window; the large full moon‘s sil- 
ver light rendered the scene more beautiful still. 
She perceived Othleo‘s stalwart figure wending 
his way toward the coral in the distance, where 
some cow-boys were rounding up some cattle for 
the market. Then for the first time she fell to 
thinking about him : what a fine robust figure he 
possessed — clear, fair complexion — smooth shaven 
face — noble brow, and mild brown eyes with rath- 
er a serious honest look, yet they twinkled when 
he smiled ; how kind and gentlemanly he was to 
her, yet reserved. He did not look like the rest 
of the Spanish-Mexicans, and she did not believe 
he was one. 

Then like a shadow the strangeness of her new 
home made her shiver, and she crept into bed and 
soon was asleep. When she awoke the sun was 
streaming into her windows ; all nature was mak- 
ing merry. Zula knelt reverently and thanked 
God for the light of so glorious a day, and ask- 
ed for strength, protection, and guidance, for 
though all nature rejoiced there was a depression 
in her heart. Why, she knew not. She break- 
fasted with step-mother and daughters in the din- 
nig-room, but was lonely as she could not con- 
verse with them. Later on entering her father‘s 
room, she learned that Othleo had gone with the 
covv-boys to take cattle to the market and would 
be absent for several days. 

Her father seemed cheerful, but could not talk 
much on account of weakness, so the nurse mo- 
tioned her not to remain long. She wandered a- 
bout the grounds thinking it a modern Eden, but 
191 


she longed for a tramp over to the river, Avhich 
tempted her sorely as she looked through the iron 
bars of the locked gate. She felt that she was a 
prisoner, as the wall was too higli to scale, and 
too she noticed that she was shadowed, a small, 
dark man, dressed in livery followed her wher- 
ever she went. She concluded he was one of the 
many servants, but why did he follow and watch 
her so closely? She was no criminal nor a baby. 
A bed of cacti with flowers that Avould cliarm the 
eye of an artist attracted lier attention. She 
thought to pluck one of the fair ])lossoms. A rat- 
tle and a hiss, and her dark folloAver pushed her 
aside, wielded a cudgel and killed a serpent of a 
deadly kind. 

She thanked him, in English, he bowed politely 
removing his hat. He shoAved her the dead rep- 
tile then pointed toward the house ; thither she 
AA^ended her way pale and trembling. On peering 
out of her windoAV soon after she saw him dispatch 
snake No. 2. It was a long day but eveniug‘s shad- 
OAVs fell at last, and she was permitted to see her 
father. He requested her to read tlie fortieth 
psalm, and then they prayed together. 

The following day Zula went Avith the ladies of 
the household for a ride ; the air aa as fragrant 
Avith the perfume of floAvers, and the scenery Avas 
beautiful as they rode by hillside, and across the 
river bridge, yet no one to speak to. Dodo, as 
they called her protector, rode ahead on a firey 
broncho he carried a dagger and reAmh^er in his 
belt, likeAvise did both coachman and footman. 
After some miles ride they stopped and had a ban- 
quet under a large tree, but before they spread 
their cloth Dodo examined the ground, also the 
treetops. She relished the good things, for the 
fresh air and exercise had given her an appetite. 
All, including the servants, seemed to pay her ex- 
198 


tra attention, by motion, nod and smile, as if she 
]iad been a queen. Then it occurred to her that 
the tour had been planned for her sake, as they 
had seen lier peering through the gate. An hour 
was spent in gathering wild berries and flowers, 
and then they returned. That night she slept 
soundly, and ever after felt more at home. Tlie 
following day she was called to her father ‘s room, 
a Methodist minister — a missionary from the U- 
nited States, who resided in a distant city was 
tliere. Zula Avas rejoiced to see him, for to hear 
any one speak the English language was a treat. 
His call though short was a great consolation to 
her father and lierself. The family Avere Catho- 
lics Avith the exception of her father and Othleo, 
Avho had joined a Protestant church Avhile aAvay 
at school. 

The pleasant faced clergyman assured Zula that 
he should come again soon, and told lier that he 
did not think her father AA^as long for this AA^orld. 
That night she AA^as depressed and restless, and 
someAvhere about midnight there came a racket at 
her Avindow and a harsh A^oice said — Leon, Leon, 
let poor Polly in, Polly is good, let Polly in. She 
screamed Avdth fright ; her door that she had left 
locked lleAV open, and in sprang Dodo. She Avas 
still more frightened, but he opened the shutter 
and in fleAV a parrot; it lit on the foot of her bed 
and in the same harsh A^oice said — Leon, Leon, Pol- 
ly ‘s come. Dodo endeavored to catcli her, but she 
evaded him, flying and saying-Go aAvay Dodo, Pol- 
ly AA^ants Leon, Polly AA^ants a cracker, and then 
lleAV to a perch in a corner half screened by a plant. 
Zula smiled, she was pleased Avith a bird that could 
speak the English language. She gave it a crack- 
er, the parrot took it from her hand, crying — not 
Leon, not Leon. Dodo waved his hand pointing 
19d 


around the room, saying— Leon, then bowed him- 
self out. 

Zula, was hysterical, cried and laughed at the 
same time. One thing was certain, she was in 
Leon’s, room, he was the student that was away 
from home. And' another thing, Dodo must have 
a key to her door, and sleep Avith his clothes on 
near by. It must be Othleo‘s doings to have her 
so carefully guarded, and why should he — was she 
in any real danger? she shuddered. 

She opened her little testament and read — 

“I am with you alway.” she retired and repeat- 
ed the Lord‘s Prayer over and over again until 
she fell asleep, just as she used to do when a 
child. 

In a week‘s time Othleo returned. ‘Twas a joy 
to Zula and her father, and the servants, especi- 
ally Dodo, who appeared devoted to Othleo. The 
days passed more pleasantly uoav; her father had 
rallied so as to be able to sit in the garden, in 
his invalid chair, a short time each day. His wife 
and step-daughters were civil to liim, but their 
conduct was strained and not of an affectionate 
nature. 

Zula informed Othleo of the parrot, and the 
fright it gave her, and how afterwards she had 
enjoyed the presence of a bird that could say a 
few words in English. She also told him Dodo‘s 
abrupt entrance into her room wlien she screamed ; 
and of the snakes, and asked why lie Avas ever on 
guard. 

Othleo looked grave ; he stated that Dodo AA^as 
a faithful servant; he found him in Cuba AA^here 
Dodo AA^as condemned to die for lieing an insur- 
gent. Othleo had managed to save his life, but 
came near loosing his oAvn in so doing. 

And is it so dangerous here that one must go 
armed, and have a guard? asked Zulu. 

200 


It is well to be cautious, Othleo replied, there 
are poisonous snakes, wild animals, lawless men, 
and bands of Indians that are not safe when drunk, 
and — he hesitated and turned pale, then said, I 
have engaged a lady to teach you Spanish and mu- 
sic, she comes in a month. 

The month was one of the happiest of Zula‘s 
life ; Othleo did not act the part of a lover, but a 
true friend and brother. He took her and step- 
sisters to see the sights in the city, and explained 
in an honest, pleasing way, all she could not un- 
derstand. She learned that Isabella was engaged 
to a Spanish soldier in Cuba, an officer of wealth. 
But Oarlotta ever kept her black eyes fastened on 
Othleo and Zula when they were together ; finally 
Zula asked Othleo why she did so. He blushed 
then turned pale and said, hesitatingly; for a 
number of years it has been the aspiration of my 
step-mother that I should marry Oarlotta, but 
father objects, and I — 

Well, interrupted Zula, have you no mind of 
your own? 

I assure you I have, Othleo spoke up with much 
spirit, that is why I am not married, nor never will 
be to her. 

Why don‘t you tell her so? asked Zula. 

For reasons I do not care to state at present, but 
I have never given her any encouragements. Why 
they wish me to marry her is, — they think I will 
be heir to father‘s property, but they don^t know 
all. I will tell you after father‘s death, if I live. 
A cloud passed over his face, then seeing her turn 
pale and tremble, he smiled and said — Do not fear 
my little friend, the good book says — That all 
things work together for good, for those that love 
Him, and are called according to his purpose. I 
feel that I am called to be instrumental in plant- 
ing a missionary station here, if you will help me. 

201 


This country around here is heathenism itself : 
bull fights, cock fights, and even duels, are attend- 
ed by women and children — even our stepmother 
and her daughters — that‘s Avhere they are today. 

A mutual friendliness sprang up between them : 
when he was not with her. Dodo was near her. 
But when Carlotta or her mother or sister were 
present, he treated Zula with cool civility. 

The teacher come, and things changed. She 
Avas a liandsome vivacious burnette, and something 
of a flirt, about thirty years of age but under- 
stood the art of looking young. She soon made 
friends of the step-mother and daughters. Othleo 
made obeisance to her, and the servants Avorsliipped 
her. She sang like an angel to the sick father, 
and even Zula could but admire her tact of mak- 
ing people worship her. 

Zula felt lonely studying in her room alone (ex- 
cept during recitation hours) while her teacher 
entertained others. Zula did not see much of 
Othleo now. Sometimes she sat long into the 
night gazing out on the grounds; one night her 
heart gave a bound for there she beheld Othleo 
and her teacher, Iona Mez, walking under the 
trees in earnest coiiA^ersation . She crept into bed 
and wept herself to sleep. 

The months wore away, and as Zula had been 
very studious she could speak and understand a 
fair amount of the Spanish language but she made 
no attempt to use it except to Dodo, avIio had be- 
come her fast friend. 

A year had passed since she entered on lier life 
in Mexico ; her teacher had gone on a vacation ; 
she no longer wore black, and instead of the girl 
she appeared the woman, and fairer than before. 

One sultry night she could not sleep, so arose 
and donned a white wrapper, and sat by the south 
window. Her room was a corner one, and on the 

m 


west was a veranda that could be reached by a 
flight of steps from the garden. The double west 
window was a door, shuttered and kept locked. 
About midnight she heard a noise, a key grated 
in the lock, shutter and window opened, and a 
soldier in Spanish uniform quickly stepped in. His 
black locks curled over a narrow forehead, fhis face 
flushed. Zula was too frightened to move or 
scream. The parrot screamed Leon, Leon, my 
Leon, here is Polly, Polly wants a cracker, then 
flew and lit on his shoulder. 

Ho ! ho ! my plucky Polly, said he, as he stag- 
gered toward Zula; Polly, can‘t you introduce 
me to your fair mistress? 

Zula screamed as she breathed the odor of whis- 
key. Dodo rushed into the room, his brown face 
paled as he beheld Leon. 

Hey! master Dodo, here you are, said Leon, 
youTl get your neck stretched yet, sir. 

Dodo straightened up and said — It is your neck 
that is in danger. You were not expected home as 
we heard that you had joined the Spanish army, so 
your mother assigned our lady friend to your room. 
Leon, you will go to the guest chamber. 

Ho! ho introduce me first Dodo, said Leon. 

Othleo will tomorrow, said Dodo. Oome, be a 
gentleman, you will wish you had, sometime. 

Leon sways forward saying-She is d~pretty any- 
way. 

Dodo took him firmly by the arm, and led him 
cursing, from the room. 

Late the following day Zula was ushered into 
the parlor, and with pomp introduced to Leon. He 
was clad in a citizen^s dress suit of black — latest 
cut and finest cloth — with diamonds sparkling on 
his shirt front. He was politeness personified — 
every inch a gentleman. His jet eyes seemed to 
devour Zula, who flushed under his gaze of admir- 
203 


atioii, which only enhanced her beauty. Her gol- 
den wavy locks were tied back with blue ribbon ; 
her dress was of blue silk ; and her step-mother, 
all at once had taken a great interest in her, had 
clasped a necklace of pearls around lier throat. 
Isabella and Oarlotta seemed to vie with each 
other in paying her the highest compliments. 

Othleo was present, but appeared downcast and 
sullen; he usually was cheerful and kind, why the 
change, puzzled Zula, was it because her teacher 
was not coming back, or was he jealous because 
her step-brother paid her so much attention? She 
might have felt elated at receiving so great and 
unexpected notice, but see could not forget the 
scene of the night before when he entered her 
room intoxicated. 

With wit, laughter and music the evening pass- 
ed. And when they arose to separate for the night 
Othleo gave her his arm and led lier to her fath- 
er's room; on the way he said in a whisper — 

Say nothing to father regarding Leon‘s presence 
— they are not friends ; it was through Leon that 
father had his fall, from which he will never re- 
cover ; and a knowledge of his being here might 
prove fatal to father. I will tell you more later 
— this is but a powder mill. 

As they entered her father‘s room, he raised his 
head and smiled, saying — 

Zula, my darling, how like your mother. They 
had a little prayer meeting, and Zula sang her 
father to sleep with ‘'Rock of Ages.” 

Orthleo was called to town next day. Leon had 
made fast work of getting acquainted, and wished 
Zula to go for a ride ; she went to dress ; Dodo 
came into her room. No, no, Leon bad man, 
you shan't go. He went out with her key, lock- 
ing her door, and she remained a prisoner until 0th- 
m 


leo returned that night. When told of it Othleo 
said — Thank God. 

The next morning she was ushered into herfath- 
er‘s room. The missionary, his wife and daughter 
were there, while Dodo stood guard outside. Her 
father lay pale and still, she placed her hand in 
his and kissed him. 

My daughter, he said, I must leave you, and 
leave you penniless. I liave no property nor nev- 
er did have. All here belongs to Othleo by inher- 
itance ; but my third wife and her children never 
knew it, so wished Oarlotta to marry him. They 
had never heard of you until just before you came. 
Soo]i after Dodo heard them planning to send for 
Leon and marry you to him, fair or foul. Why 
Othleo llirted with the teacher and ignored you 
was because Dodo had played the eavesdropper 
and heard them mention getting rid of Othleo as 
they thouglit you my legal heir and supposed I 
would you wish to marry him ;but if he married the 
teacher, Leon would marry you and this home 
would still be theirs. They did have property, 
but Leon squandered it. They have gone to a 
bull-figlit today. And as I learned through the 
servants that Leon was here, it gave me a shock 
that the docter says I cannot rally from. I can- 
not leave you alone in the world among heathens 
almost. Let the missionary unite you to Othleo 
now, it is not safe to postpone your marriage until 
I am gone. Othleo has ever been a kind son to 
me, and he loves you dearly. 

Othleo presented his hand and Zula placed hers 
within it, and they were soon made man and wife. 
God‘s blessing was asked on their union. 

Her father lingered until the next day ; when 
the doctor pronounced him dying, all came into 
the room, Leon included, and learned for the first 
time that a marriage had taken place, also that 
205 


all the property belonged to Othleo, he having in- 
herited it from his mother and grandfather. There 
were frowns and angry words mixed up with the 
moans of the dying, and Zula‘s tears fell fast as 
she clung to Othleo. 

Leon with a curse whipped out a revolver aim- 
it at Othleo, but Dodo ever on the alert grasped it 
from his hand, and the bullet lodged in the wall 
above their heads as Zula father breathed his 
last. 

At this juncture several rough men broke into 
the room, grasped Leon and placed a rope around 
his neck, then amid cries of revenge dragged him 
from the room into the garden. His mother swoon- 
ed, his sisters screamed, Zula clung to Othleo, 
Dodo closed and locked the door. 

They hung Leon on a limb of the tree that shad- 
ed Zula‘s window; after making sure that he was 
dead they informed the inmates of the house that 
they were safe ; that in hanging Leon they had 
only meted out justice, as for some time past he 
had been the leader of a gang of highwaymen, and 
on different public occasions, had wore a Spanish 
soldiers suit. He also was a spy for the Spanish. 
And several times he had made ,his way to the 
States in the capacity of a desperado. The Cath- 
olics would not bury him, as he had not led a faith- 
ful life, so he was buried in a potter‘s field. 

Mr. Oastiola was interred in the city cemetery, 
and a beautiful monument now marks his resting 
place. 

Mrs. Oastiola lost her mind and was taken to an 
insane retreat, and died soon after. 

Oarlotta joined the sisters of the “Good Shep- 
herd.” Later when Isabella learned that her in- 
tended had been shot for a deserter, she commit- 
ted suicide. 

Othleo and Zula remained at their home deter- 

206 


mined their lives should not be a mistake. Their 
ranca of 1,000 acres was improved, and a mission 
and orphans’ home built there on. And in mak- 
ing themselves useful, they are extemely happy. 






“Goy, Coy Oox, 

Hair like a fox. 

Beg, beg, beggar beg. 

Face like a turkey-egg.” 

Tauntingly cried two rude boys to a little girl 
of eight years, who was picking blackberries by 
the roadside. 

“Just mind your own business or IJI tell pa.” 
cried the annoyed child. 

“You haint got no pa,’ nor never had any, and 
what‘s more, old Oox took you from the poor- 
house,’ said one of the boys, while the other at- 
tempted to snatch her basket of berries, but she 
avoided him, and gave him a slap in the face. 

“I wouldn^t take that from an imp of a girl; 
let^s choke her, and eat her berries.’ said Jim. 

They both made a dive at the girl who gave a 
loud scream. 

Just then a horseman rode up, and on seeing 
the boy‘s rude act, he plied his whip raound their 


207 


bare legs until they cried for mercy, and ran out 
of sight as fast as their legs would carry them. 

When the child stood alone before her protector 
she thanked him for releasing her from the rude 
boys, and saving her berries, which she explained 
was for father Oox, who was a cripple, and at the 
present time was not well. 

The stranger dismounted and walked beside the 
child, inquiring her name which she gave as Coy 
Oox. She also told him that her mother died 
leaving her in the poorhouse ; and Mr. Oox had a- 
dopted her, and they were good to her, and used 
her extremely well, but were poor; mother Oox, she 
said had lost the use of one arm, by a stroke pa- 
ralysis ; and father Oox only had his pension to 
live on now, and a small garden, but she was go- 
ing to take care of them, she said importantly. 

“I was here looking for Mr. Oox.’ said the 
stranger, adding, ‘‘Will you accompany me there, 
please?’, 

“Yes, indeed I will.’ said the child, her eyes 
brilliant with surprise. 

“Are you an old soldier too?’ she querried as 
her feet pattered along beside him. 

“I have not that pleasure.’ said he, “but I 
hold in high esteem, those that were loyal to their 
country; who fought and bled for Old Glory.’ 

“Father Oox hasn‘t got but one leg; he left the 
other way down in Dixie, he says, I‘m so glad you 
came, so those mean boys did not get my berries.’ 
said she. 

“Those boy shall never torment you again.’ as- 
serted the stranger setting his teeth together. 

“But they will, if I go out, or even to school.” 
affirmed Ooy. 

“I‘ll fix that.’ assured he, as they came to a 
small house covered with vines. 

“Here, in this little house is where I live.’ said 
208 


the child.’ “Mother Cox has flowers most all ov- 
er it, so it looks pretty if it is logs,don‘t it and we 
white wash it inside, so it is as sweet as a nut, as 
father Cox says.’ 

The stranger followed Coy in to the cabin, and 
she, all sunshine said. 

“Oh papa! here is a real stranger come to see 
you, and he drove the naughty boys away, that 
were teasing me, and, oh see! I‘ve some berries 
for you.’ 

Mr. Cox, with a dignified air (for he had seen 
better days) arose on his crutch saying he was 
pleased to meet him, and thanked him warmly 
for protecting the child from the rude boys. Then 
Mrs. Oox with her motherly face aglow, came in- 
to the room and welcomed the stranger warmly, 
then asked him to put his fine horse in the stable 
and feed it, as dinner would soon be ready. 

Mr. Townsend, as he gave his name, accepted 
her hospitality, being wearied with his long ride. 

After the simple repast was over, Mr. Townsend 
asked that the child might be sent from the room 
as he had a secret he wished to reveal to them ; 
that she was to young to understand, and that she 
had better not known until she was grown. 

Much annoyed. Coy went out for a romp with 
the puppies that they were raising to sell. And 
when she was again called into the house she 
found father and mother Cox in tears. 

The stranger informed Coy that he was the only 
kinship she had living, and that for several years, 
lie had been in search of her, and had only re- 
cently traced her whereabouts. He then asked 
her if she would go with him ; promising her ev- 
erytliing a child could delight in. 

8he entwined her arms around Mrs. Cox and 
said. 

“No, I‘ll stay with my dear mamma and papa. 

209 


“I \voii‘t leave them because they are poor.’ 

“Will you go if they will go to?’ asked he. 

“Yes if you will buy them nice clothes, and 
give us a good home.’ said she. 

“Well, come and sit on 1113^ knee, and we will 
talk it over.’ said the stranger. 

“Go.’ whispered Mrs. Oox and Ooy was soon 
embraced by Mr. Townsend, who kissed her and 
said. 

“Your mother was very dear to me, but alas! 
her fate. Little one you must, be very good 
and noble, and worthy of being called her daugh- 
ter.’ 

Later, Mr. and Mrs. Oox moved to town and 
dwelt in the finest house the stranger could pur- 
chase for them, and Coy dwelt with them as their 
dutiful daughter. 

The stranger went his way, just like the wind; 
whence he came, nor whither he went no one knew 
but he left sufficient to keep the trio several 
years. 

When he returned again he found Ooy much 
improved in looks, and manners and she greeted 
him warmly; he bought her a nice piano, and 
clothes such as she had never dreamed of. Then 
he again took his departure, after leaving suffi- 
cient for them to live on. 

Ooy soon entered high school, determined to re- 
pay her kinsman for all the kindness he had be- 
stowed upon her. At eighteen she graduated, 
Mr. Townsend was present, and presented her with 
the lovliest bouquet that her eyes had ever be- 
held. But soon her joy was turned to grief, for 
that night her father Oox was summoned home ; 
he was found dead in his bed, in the morning, 
with a smile on his face. It was no surprise to 
his attending physician, for he had assured them 
210 


that he might fall asleep at any time, to awaken 
no more ; yet their grief was deep. 

Mr. Townsend now wished her to attend a young 
ladies finishing school in a distant city; but Ooy, 
would not leave mother Oox, who was now too fee- 
ble to travel ; bub Coy had not long to tarry witli 
her, for she soon had another stroke, which prov- 
ed a call to ‘^come up higher.’ 

After the funeral was over, Ooy had nothing 
more to keep her there. So clad in black, and ac- 
companied by Mr. Townsend, they went to Boston 
where she entered the young ladies finishing 
school. 

Two more years passed, but the time slipped by 
very rapidly in tlie hustling, bustling Boston. And 
Ooj" had fallen in love with a young law student, 
and had promised to marry him, providing her 
father (whom Mr. Townsend proved to be) would 
give his consent, but when her father came to see 
her, it always so happened that her adorer was a- 
way on his vacation ; but she felt sure her father 
would not object if he could see him. 

Ooy‘s school closed in sunny June, on her twen- 
ty-first birthday. She had not seen her father 
since Christmas, but had heard from him often. 

Her betrothed had also graduated from the law 
school, and gone to his home near Chicago. 

Mrs. Desmond, Coy^s chaperon, wished much to 
visit friends in Chicago, but thought it best to 
wait until some message came from Mr. Townsend 
regarding Coy Cox, as she had always been called, 
but her father had told her that on reaching her 
minority, she was to take his name, Townsend, 
Avhich was her rightful name, and to Corinda, 
which the Coxes had shortened to Coy, was her 
mother‘s given name ; so hereafter she would be 
known by her righful name Corinda Townsend. 

A letter soon came from Mr. Townsend, addressed 
211 


to Miss Oorinda Townsend. He wished her and 
her chaperon to come to Chicago as soon as con- 
venient; and to send a telegram to Waukegan, 
where his Villa was located, as soon as they arriv- 
ed there. While she is consulting her chaperon 
we will take a peep into the home of Mr. Town- 
send. 

In the drawning room we see four young people. 
Chester Grant and his two sisters, Hortense and 
Madge ; and Milo Montgomery, a ward of Mr. 
Townsend, and a son of his schoolmate. The first 
three young people are Mr. Townsend^s stepchild- 
ren. 

have some news that will startle you.’ said 
Chester Grant. 

‘‘Do tell us at once, what it is.’ said Hortense, 
“Do not keep us in suspense. 

Chester smiled, then said. “Ex-governorSmith‘s 
daughter Aurora, is coming to spend several days 
with us, and I mean to make a mash ; they say 
her father is worth two million dollars and she is 
his only heir; and she has as good as admitted that 
she loves me.’ 

“But,’ said Milo, “you said you were engaged, 
how are you going to fix that?’ 

“Oh,’ said Chester, “if I succeed in winning the 
diamond, I‘ll just write the other one and tell her 
that I have changed my mind ; and if I don‘t suc- 
ceed, why, the other will never be the wiser for 
my adventure and defeat; there‘s nothing like 
having two strings to a bow, you are aware.’ 

Their conversation was cut short, as a servant 
entered the room saying that Mr. Townsend wish- 
ed to see them all, at once ; for he was going away. 
All were soon in his room, servants included, 
where Mr. Townsend awaited them. He stood for 
a moment, his keen eyes glancing from one face 
to another, then said — 


212 


“You are aware that I have a daughter.’ 

Chester bowed, and Mr. Townsend continued. 

“I told your mother, when I married her some 
thirteen years ago, that I should not bring my 
daughter home until you, her children, were of 
age, and that I would support and educate you, a 
promise which I have strictly kept. You are all 
of age now and educated ; and can, if necessary, 
support yourselves. Your mother has been dead 
a year. I have sent for my daughter, and she will 
be here within a week. She will then figure as 
the mistress of my house. You can remain here, if 
she is willing, until you go to homes of your own ; 
but perchance you offend her in any way, you 
must at once leave my premises forever. And as 
it is with you, my stepchildren, it is also the same 
with you, Milo Montgomery ; also you, servants ; 
she can turn you away, or retain your services. 
And to secure her against mutiny, or other trou- 
ble, she will retain her chaperon, who will keep 
her eyes open, and whomsoever she marks de-mer- 
it, must step down, and out.’ 

“I regret to say that I must leave for Califor- 
nia at once on business, and may be gone from 
home several months.’ 

“Now, Milo, I believe I can trust my daughter 
to your care. When a telegram comes, when to 
meet them at Chicago, you must be on hand. Can 
I depend on you?’ 

“Yes sir.’ replied Milo with an earnest, honest 
look on his comely face, while Chester‘s eyes turn- 
ed green with jealousy. 

It was not the first time tliat Mr. Townsend had 
shown his preference for Milo, for it was true, his 
faith in Chester often wavered, and he believed 
him transitory, and not to be depended upon. 

“One thing more I will mention.’ he said. 

“That front suit of rooms that you girls occupy, 
213 


I wish you to have the furniture, and your other 
belongings removed to some other part of the 
house. I have ordered new furnishings for those 
rooms, which my daughter and her chaperon will 
occupy. You see that my orders are fulfilled, Mi- 
lo, now adieu. ^ 

After Mr. Townsend took his departure, and the 
servants had returned to their various work, the 
young people expressed their opinion very plain- 
ly* 

“Now if that isn‘t a shame.’ said Hortense her 
black eyes snapping. 

“If I ever knew he had another wife, I liad for- 
gotten it.’ said Madge. 

“Never mind, girls.’ said Chester, “iTl make 
love to the country damsel, then she will love you 
for my sake.’ 

“You simpleton.’ said Hortense. “You are en- 
gaged, besides having the governor ‘s daughter on 
hand. But how do you know she is from the coun- 
try.’ 

“Oh, I did not intend to marry the thing,’ said 
Chester, “only keep sweet on her. I presume she 
is soft. Yes, I know she is from the country, for 
I got hold of one of dad‘s letters years ago, and it 
mentioned her as being adopted by a farmer ; I 
could not make out the name, it was from a law- 
yer — Oh here comes a load of furniture now.’ 

All was hustle and bustle to get the rooms clear- 
ed out and ready for the new furniture. As soon 
as the rooms were in order, who should arrive but 
Miss Smith, the governor's daughter. And Ches- 
ter, unbeknown to Milo, had his sister consign her 
to the newly furnished rooms ; saying, she likely 
would leave, before the girl came. 

Miss Smith was not pretty, nor brilliant, but 
her diamonds were. And Chester thought if he 
was not to get Mr. Townsend’s dollars, he must 
214 


look elsewhere for them. As for the girl he was 
engaged to, she had always dressed fine, but he 
did not know what was back of her; so he lost no 
time in making love to the heiress; and just as 
he Avas getting Avell into the swim of wooing, a 
message came to the affect that Miss Townsend a- 
Avaited her father in Chicago. 

Milo hastened to meet her. He introduced him- 
self as Mr. ToAAmsend‘s AA^ard, and informed her 
that her father had been called suddenly away, 
on some important business affairs, and liad left 
Avord for him to take charge of her until he re- 
turned. She looked a trifle disappointed, as her 
chaperone Avas going to stop aAvhile in Chicago to 
visit friends, butfinaly consented to accompanyMi- 
lo to Waukegan, and aAvait there her father ‘s 
homecoming. 

It Avas late in the evening Avhen they arrived 
home, and Milo A\^as AAToth on learning that Miss 
Smith occupied the rooms set apart for Miss Toavu- 
send ; but Madge assured him that Miss Smith 
Avould depart on the morrow, so Miss ToAvnsend 
was consigned to a former guest chamber. 

She met none of the family that evening, but 
they peeped at her through the blinds, making 
fun of the grey robed figure. 

As the others had dined, Milo and Corinda din- 
ed alone. After the repast, Milo asked her to ex- 
cuse the others as they had company. 

“I am glad it happened so,’ she said, “for I pre- 
fer a rest before being introduced to strangers.’ 

Milo asked her if she Avould like to walk out in 
their laAvn, as their villa Avas situated out of toAvn. 

“Yes indeed,’ she replied, “I love the country.. 
So accepting Milo's arm, they Avalked the Avind- 
ing path by the fountain and ffoAver beds. The 
moon shone gloriously, and feeling tired they 
215 


paused in the shadow of a large tree, and sat 
down on a rustic bench uuderneath. 

The spot was ill, or rather well chosen, for who 
should come along but Chester and Miss Smith, 
and seated themselves on a bench in the bright- 
moonlight in full view of them . 

Oh ! I do love you, whether I can convince you 
of the fact or not.’ declared Chester in a plantive 
assuring voice. 

“Well it makes no difference, for I am engaged 
to Barron De Dorment; but I thank you all the 
same. Yours is the thirteenth proposal I have 
secured within a year, and I‘ve won a wager.’ said 
Miss Smith. 

To Milo‘s surprise, Miss Tovn send arose and 
quickly confronted Chester. He gave a start and 
turned as white as a ghost. 

“I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Grant, and to 
know you under your true colors. Our engage- 
ment you have severed by proposing to another 
young lady in my presence. My father, Mr. Towns- 
end, does not need to be consulted, I can settle 
that now.’ 

“Coy Cox! you here? and are you Mr. Towns- 
end^s daughter?’ said Chester in a surprised tone. 

“Certainly, but Coy Cox was the name my a- 
dopted parents gave me. My correct name isCor- 
inda Townsend. My father married my mother 
when he was a minor. She was an orphan, and a 
country school teacher. His father was very wroth 
when he learned of their marriage, so sent him to 
Europe to get him away from her. When he be- 
came of age he returned to claim his wife, but 
could not find her, nor get any trace of her for sev- 
eral years, but finally traced her to the alms- 
house, where she had died, and I was born; I had 
been adopted by Mr. Cox before he found me, and 
216 


he has since supported and educated me. Now, 
Mr. Grant you know all.’ 

‘‘Well, said Chester with a pleading voice, “I‘m 
Mr. Townsend‘s stepson; queer isn‘t it? That we 
did not learn of it sooner ; now dear, let this little 
hirtation of mine be forgotten, and let us marry 
at once. It would please your father I know.’ 

“No sir, never.’ said Oorinda, and she kept her 
word. 

Miss Smith left the next morning, and Chester 
the same day, and when Mr. Townsend returned, 
Hortense and Madge followed suit. Milo, remain- 
ed, and in course of time married Corinda. 



A LETTER IN THE SNOW. 

(IN THE SIXTIES) 



“Oh, what a glorious world this is! I‘m so hap- 
py. My first and last school has closed and I‘m to 
wed Gerome Adams in rosy June. I could hardly 
believe my senses Avhen he proposed to me. Every 
one supposed Eflie Jenks was his choice, though he 
was always kind to me. But since Mike returned 
from the army last fall Gerome has paid his at- 
tentions to me. They say Mike and Effie are en- 
gaged. Mike is a right good fellow but he drank 
before he joined the army and they say he does 
217 


yet. If Effie marries him thinking to reform him, 
I fear .she will know grief.’ 

Thus Mary‘s mind rambled on as she wended 
her way along the well trod path across the field 
of snow to her boarding place. It had been thaw- 
ing and a pink object, peeking from the snow, at- 
tracted her attention ; stooping she picked it up 
finding it to be a letter in a faded envelope. The 
address was blurred, having been wet hence she 
could not decipher it. It had been unsealed by 
the dampness so she opened and took out the let- 
ter. That, too, was blurred but after some study 
she made out it was from Effie to Gerome ; yes it 
was her acceptance of his proposal of marriage, 
dated early in the winter. It had probably been 
lost by his younger brother who usually brought 
the mail when coming home from school, who 
fearing o scolding, had never mention the matter. 

A chill crept over her, horrors marred her sweet 
face ; she stood like a statue, her lips parted and 
in anguish she cried aloud: '‘What am I to do?’ 
This is terrible, they love each other and would 
now have been engaged but for this letter having 
been lost. Now she is engaged to Mike and Ger- 
ome to me. Oh! What shall I do? She again 
said but in a lower tone as a thought flashed upon 
her mind as she raised her dark eyes to the east- 
ern hills, where its timbered summits were being 
kissed by the Golden glow of the setting sun. 

“I could, but I will not do it.’ she finally said 
after a brief meditation. “Yes I could destroy 
this and they would never know but the secret 
would make me miserable all my days. They love 
each other and I must do right though I suffer for 
it.’ 

Thus deciding the most important matter in her 
life ; bright hopes of the future fading before her 
she decided to give Gerome the letter, when he 

218 


came to her boarding place that evening to take 
her home. Her only liome was with the Olines. 
Poor Mary but faintly remembered her happy go- 
lucky father and the bitter quarrel which caused 
the separation of her parents, when she was but a 
little tot. Their beautiful home was left and mam- 
ma rarely smiling and frequently weeping, sewed 
for their livelihood until a summons from on high 
bade her come. 

Mary was then placed in a Home and soon af- 
terwards adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Kline, well 
meaning, childless people. Mary in the humble 
home had become an adept at housekeeping and 
got sufficient education from the district school to 
enable her to teach. She had a sweet disposition 
and was liked by all. 

As Gerome Adams helped her into the sleigh 
he noticed her pallor and inquired if she were ill. 
She replied in a timerous voice, that she was ill 
at heart, and gave him the letter, saying it meant 
much to him. 

“To me.’ he said in surprise. 

“And Effie.’ added she. 

Holding the lines in one hand he tried to read 
the blotted sheet but it was impossible. She then 
told him its contents. He tried to hide his emo- 
tion, yet she realized his agitation as he said, 

“What of it? You and I are engaged so are 
Mike and Effie, better you had destroyed the let- 
ter and said nothing.’ declared he, a bit of irony 
in his tone. 

“Gerome,’ said she sternly, “my conscience 
would not permit me to do such a thing. Think 
for a moment how Effie must have looked for your 
coming or a letter from you; then later on learn- 
ing of our engagement, accepted Mike wdiom she 
feels kindly toward as a step-brother, which he is. 
Now Mr. Adam I can never marry you knowing 
219 


that you care for her and she for you. We could 
not be happy.’ 

“But what are we to do then I should like to 
know.’ he said much agitated. 

“Do, repeated she, V\l tell you if you will lis- 
ten.’ 

“Go on.’ said he like a drownding man, ready to 
catch at straws floating on the tide. 

Very well then, said she this is my plan ; we will 
call at Jenks, Mike will likely be there. After 
a little common place talk Idl get Mike to go out 
coasting with me just as we use to when we were 
children. Effie, you know, never indulged in such 
Tom-Boy sports hence she will remain indoors and 
you and she can manage an understanding.” 

At this juncture they turned the corner of Jenks’ 
home. Mike was on the steps and after a formal 
salutation Mary inquired : 

“Is Efiie at home.’ 

“Yes.’ was the quick response. 

“I wish to see her a minute.’ she said. 

Mike came down and as she arose to alight he 
assisted her and as Gerome tied and blanketed 
his team and then followed blithe and chatting 
Mike and Mary to the house. Efiie was cool at first 
but jolly Mary soon put not only Effie but Gerome 
and Mike at ease. She then made known her er- 
rand, she had wished to loan some patterns from 
Effie and as Effie went for them, seeing a small 
sled out doors, she proposed coasting down the hill 
nearby. Mike, nothiug loath, went with her. 
When Effie returned she found Gerome alone. 

Mary managed to keep Mike out for a half hour, 
as they returned she paused on the door step and 
giving Mike a look they listened. 

“Yes Gerome I will marry you. I never cared 
for Mike only as a brother, 1 accepted him because 
he urged me too, and my iDeople were eager I should 
120 


as he has recently fallen heir to some property.’ 
As these words fell on their ears Mike turned frW 
red to purple and then with an oath rushed into 
the house. Mary trembling with fear went to Ger- 
ome‘s sleigh and got her satchel and set out for 
home across the fields. Hastily she traveled leav- 
ing the sound of Mike‘’s voice growing fainter and 
fainter in the distance. As she entered her home 
Mrs. Cline greeted her with — 

“O! you've come, have you, just as I've got the 
work done. Seth has been on the lounge nearly 
all day, and I've had the chores to do, and house 
work too, and my head aches enough to burst.’ 

"Mother,’ said Mary, "please lie down and I'll 
make you some boneset tea, I believe you have the 
Lagrippe, and so has father. I'll be home now 
and I'll soon have you both well again. We need- 
ed my school money, and I wished to be useful.’ 

Not long after Mr. and Mrs. Cline were comfort- 
ably sleeping, but no sleep came to the unhappy 
Mary Payne. Had she done right in liberating 
Gerome from his engagement to her, or would it 
have been better to have destroyed the letter and 
married Gerome, know as she did that he loved 
Effie and Effie loved him? No, no I could not have 
been happy, I’yet, how can I give him up. O! 
thought she, if I only had a mother, or sister, to 
consult. Mrs. Cline never wanted my confidence, 
and 'tis best that I do not tell her of this episode, 
for she never knew of my engagement to Ger- 
ome . 

Finally, just as the orb of day was beginning to 
brighten the eastern sky, she fell asleep, an^l she 
dreamed of that mother whom she but faintly re- 
membered. Her face was no longer wan and thin, 
no tears dimmed her eyes, but a smile all glorious 
lit her face, and her iform was clad in shining 
white. 


221 


0 ! beautiful mother, she cried, falling at her 
feet. 

Her mother‘s face was o‘er shadowed as she 
placed her hand on Mary's head and said — 

Beware! my child, beware of thy kinsman. The 
devil would have you, but God will send an angel 
to guide you. You have done right, and shall yet 
see brighter days. Forsake not thy mother's God : 
yonder awaits thy crown, and the angel mother 
pointed to a cloud that parted, revealing a light, 
and bright beings clad in shining white appeared 
in the rift. 

A voice awoke her calling — Mary ! She opened 
her eyes, the sun was shining in her face. It was 
Mrs. Oline calling her to breakfast, knowing her 
dislike for tardiness, she hastily dressed and went 
down stairs. Mr. and Mrs. Kline seemed as well 
as ever and her tongue was just as curt. 

I began to think, said she, you were going to 
sleep all day; this is the third time I have called 
you. 

Mother, chimed in Seth Oline, don t be hard on 
the child, she had a long walk last night, and it is 
hard walking, it just tired me out going to the 
post-olRce the other day . 

Seth, you shut up, said Mrs. Kline, it was you 
that spoiled the child, if I had known you would 
make such a simpleton of her, I would have left 
her in — 

A knock resounded on the door, and Mr. Oline 
shouted, "Oome in.’ 

In walked Dick Tanner all in a flurry and said, 

Mike Quin has been found on the railroad track 
all cut to pieces, they say he was drunk. Mr. 
Jenks said he left their place about eight o'clock, 
just before Mr. and Mrs. Jenks got home, they 
had been away ; they are going to have an inquest. 
You can't imagine how Efiie Jenks takes on; she 
122 


swooned twice ; folks say they were to have been 
married next month. 

There was a commotion in Mary‘s breast but she 
managed to possess her senses, especially before 
Mrs. Cline as she with her savage way was always 
a sort of a tonic to Mary‘s nerves ; she never fail- 
ed to carry a bold front before her. Dick, as soon 
as he had delivered his message, rushed out and 
on to tell it to the next neighbor. 

Poor fellow, said Mr. Kline, ushered into eter- 
nity, and must appear before the judge of all, in 
his lost state. O! it is terrible to think of a soul 
lost, lost forever. 

Yes, it is horrible, said Mary, tears gathering 
in her mild brown eyes. 

Hum! snorted Mrs. Cline, it is a judgement on 
him, he has rejected his Savior all these years, 
and followed after the lusts of the flesh ; as for 
Effie Jenks, she ought to thank God for removing 
him from her path, instead of crying over him. 
ITI bet the Jenkses don‘t care much, as they prob- 
ably will keep his money. 

Mary did not stop to hear more but hastened to 
her room too frightened to weep, too dazed to pray 
although she sank on her knees. Had she done 
right? She feared not. Would it not have been 
better to have given the letter to Effie instead of 
Gerome? but she had not thought of that before, 
and it was too late now. 

Mrs. Cline insisted on not only going to the fun- 
eral herself, but Mr. Cline and Mary also, though 
Mary affirmed she had rather stay at home. 

The funeral was a large one, and the Jenks fam- 
ily who had ever befriended Mike, the witty, wept 
sorrowingly, and Effie lamentations brought tears 
of sympathy even to the eyes of hardened Mrs. 
Cline, although she afterwards stated it was the 
cold wind that affected her eyes. At the grave Effie 
223 


swooned, and Geroine, who was one of the pall- 
bearers and standing near Mary, (one of the sing- 
ers) whispered — “Behold your work.’ 

Mary‘s heart sank within her. Oh! how could 
Gerome thus condemn her? Had she not even sac- 
rificed her happiness to promote his? O ! cruel, 
cruel stab. 

The day ended with a blizzard and both Mr. 
Mrs. Cline fell ill. He lived but a week and she 
lingered a month. Their property fell to Mary, 
and an account of it got into the newspaper, and 
the upshot of it all was — Mary‘s father returned. 
He had quarreled with his young wife soon after 
they located in the valley. He then deserted his 
wife and infant child, his wife Mrs. Payne remain- 
ed in the community, sewed, washed, and done 
what-so-ere she could for the maintenance of her- 
self and child. She was a fair frail creature, and 
when a few years later her health failed and she 
died, little Mary was placed in the work-house 
where she remained until adopted by Mr. and Mrs. 
Cline. 

Dr. Payne, Mary^s father, now came forward to 
claim the guardiansliip of his child. He is hand- 
some, stately, and winning in his manner; but 
Mary could not forget her dream and the warning 
of her angel mother. 

After proving his identity Dr. Payne managed 
to be appointed as Mary^s guardian, she being but 
18 years of age, and soon took possession of her 
property. He at once sold it and prevailed on her 
to accompany him to the northern part of the state, 
where he said he had a fine home and a good prac- 
tice in the small but fast growing village. He 
also stated that he had many acres of timberland, 
and had an interest in the sawmill. In fact he was 
wealthy. 

He wept before Mary telling her how often and 

224 


bitter had been his repentance regarding his quar- 
rel with her inoi iier, and that he should have re- 
turned but lie heard she had returned to her peo- 
ple in the east, who had been opposed to their 
union. 

He had an elegant monument reared to the mem- 
ory of Mary‘s mother; here-to-fore her grave had 
been unmarked except by a boulder. 

Mary asked the whereabouts of her mother‘s rel- 
atives, but he refused to enlighten her. Finally 
she accompanied him north, yet not without some 
misgivings. They traveled some distance by rail, 
then many miles with a sleigh drawn by mules. 
On, on they went through dark pine forests. It 
was night, but the moon was shining brightly, 
when they reached a row of log shed-like buildings. 

This, said he, is our lumber-camp, we will stop 
here for the niglit. 

He whistled, and several men came forward in 
woodman‘s dress, and took the team to the stables 
back of what tliey termed the house. Dr. Payne 
ushered Mary into a room filled with men around 
tables, playing cards. He introduced her as his 
daughter, she flushed before their concentrated 
stare ; winks and whispers ensued. She was taken 
into an adjoining room by a fierce looking woman 
who could not speak English, and was given a sup- 
per of baked potatoes and salt pork. Later the 
women pointing to a bed of straw and a blanket, 
undressed and went to bed, and was soon asleep. 
She expects me to sleep with her sighed Mary, as 
she took an inventory of her surroundings, one 
small stand, a chair, a poor bed, bare floor, one 
window facing the log stable where she had seen 
the mules taken ; on the opposite side of the room 
Avas a board partition, withjcracks or narrow spaces 
between the boards. Hearing constant swearing 
and some loud laughter in the adjoining room, she 
225 


peeped through. There sat her father with many 
others around a long board table playing cards ; 
the table was strewn with cards and whiskey bot- 
tles. Her father sat nearest her. ITI not be in 
arrears tonight, said he, drawing a roll of bank 
notes from his pocket, (Mary well knew that they 
were in part, the price of the Oline farm.) Who 
will put $1,000 against mine. 

I will, said a soft voice, and a form richly clad, 
with diamonds sparkling in his shirt front, and on 
his hands, took the place beside her father. 

A sharper, no doubt, tliought Mary, as she took 
in the scene. Her father soon lost his last dollar, 
he then put up his daughter against $2,000, and 
the sliarper accepted. 

I would rather be a banquet for wolves than be- 
come an inmate of such a den as this, said Mary. 
She tried the window, it arose at her touch, then 
securing her shawl and bonnet, she slipped noise- 
lessly out, made her way to the old log stable, led 
out a horse, mounted it, and started down the road. 
It began to snow but she was not sorry, thinking 
it would cover the horses tracks. When out of 
sight and hearing of the shanty she started the 
horse into a gallop, a fashion of riding she had 
much enjoyed since childhood. Thank God, said 
she, that 1 am a horsewoman. On, on she rode, 
the horse proved to be a good one ; at length she 
came to cross roads, then she was aware she had 
missed the way. She choose the one that appeared 
to be the most traveled and on she went. The 
snow fell thick and fast, but soon morning dawn- 
ed yet no habitation appeared, all was pine for- 
est, to add to her perplexity, the road became a 
mere path then ceased, she was lost in the forest. 
Her voice arose in a short prayer for faith, guid- 
ance, and protection, as she opened her eyes quite 
assured of His aid, she|perceived in the dim dis- 
226 


tance a smoke curling heavenward : just like my 
prayer thought she. At this juncture the horse 
became unmanageable and set out on a canter, and 
no wonder, for jMary perceived a catamount among 
the boughs of an evergreen. On, on, the horse 
went regardless of Mary‘s attempt to reign him, 
nor did she look about until he stopped before a 
wigwam, or group of wigwams. Dogs barked and 
Indian^s dusky faces appeared, and one came and 
accosted her in broken J English inquiring if she 
were lost. 

Well, yes, said she. Is there any one one that can 
speak good English? 

The medicine man, said one, while another hast- 
ened away, and soon returned with a well clad and 
prepossessing white man. In brief Mary inform- 
ed him of her trouble and begged i^rotection. 

I, said he, am Doctor Vincent, a missionary at 
The Ridge. My native place is Boston. You done 
well to escape from Camp Black Hole, for the dev- 
il himself presides there. Your father. Dr. Payne 
or “Dare Devil Dick” as he is called, is one of the 
worst characters of the woods. ITl let no stone 
remain unturned to keep you out of his power. 
And that sharper. Bill, is his double. He assist- 
ed her to alight, and gave orders to some of the 
Indians, speaking liuently in their tongue. For a 
brief time there was quite a bustle in preparing a 
tent for her. The horse, noble beast, was led a- 
way to be cared for. 

Later Dr. Vincent informed her that she had rid- 
den about twenty miles and that is was thirty miles 
more to The Ridge. He had come hither to 
doctor an Indian Chief, a friend of his who had 
been very ill, but was now recovering. He in- 
tended to return that day and would take her with 
him. The horse he assured her was her father‘s, 
and was known for forty miles around, so it would 
227 


be best, after being fed and rested, to turn it 
loose ; it will return, said lie, to Black Hole, and 
they will think you have frozen to death or eaten 
by wild animals, hence will not look for you; and, 
too, I will swear all the Indians to silence, regard- 
ing your coming and going from here. 

After Mary had partaken of refreshments and 
rested a couple of hours, she set out with Dr. Vin- 
cent in his cutter drawn by Indian ponies. After 
riding the remainder of that day and evening they 
arrived at The Ridge, a small village of log houses, 
one of which served as a general merchandise store 
and post-office, another, as a saloon and dance hall, 
and still another as a church and school-house, 
the remainder were dwelling-houses for lumber- 
men and their families. 

Dr. Vincent played the role as missionary and 
doctor, and was revered even by the toughest cases. 
His household consisted of his sister, who figured 
as teacher : his mother who cared for his two little 
motherless children; and a half-breed servant girl 
whom they had rescued from Black Hole. 

Mary Payne was welcomed by the women and 
adored by the children. And after tarrying a few 
weeks (a heavy snow storm preventing travel) they 
persuaded Mary to remain indefinitely at The 
Ridge; and she not only proved a blessing in Dr. 
Vincentes family, but a Godsend to their church 
work. Her madonna like face and graceful figure 
not alone was the attraction, but her sweet voice and 
kindly way drew many from lumber camps to the 
meetings in the school house, hence robbing the 
saloons of many customers. 

Mary did not write to her old home in the val- 
ley fearing her father might learn of her where- 
abouts, as he would likely go hither to claim the 
remainder of the price of the farm. 

A year passed. Dr. Vincentes mother was call- 
228 


ed up higher, and his sister married the merchant 
of the place, and — well it somehow came about 
that Mary became the wife of Dr. Vincent and a 
mother to his children. 

Thirty years have now passed adown the path of 
time. The Kidge is a city of bustle and progress. 
Dr.Yincent‘s first, and also his second wife^s child- 
ren are grown to men and women and fill worthy 
places in the world. Mary, still sweet and placid 
is as fond as ever of her rescuer and husband. 
They pulled together through life‘s eventful path, 
and made the world better than they found it ; and 
too, they have enough of this world^s goods to 
make them comfortable as old age comes creeping 
on. One son figures as his M. D. partner, and is 
fully competent to fill his father‘s position. Dr. 
Vincent Sr., and his wife now visited the place 
of her nativity. How different the journey in a 
palace car, from the long cold ride with mules and 
sleigh by which she had come thirty years prev- 
ious. 

O ! how changed the old home, but few of the 
old neighbors were left to greet them. Mr. and 
Mrs. Gerome Adams still reside in the vicinitj^ 
and as soon as they heard of their arrival came 
and urged them to make it their home with them 
while they remained in the locality. Mary found 
Effie Adams as winsome as in other days when she 
was Efiie Jenks ; their children, too, had grown, and 
some had flown from the home-nest to homes of 
their own. 

The visit proved a congenial one, and Gerome 
humbly begged Mary‘s pardon for the cruel words 
he spoke to her at Mike‘s funeral. 

Effie explained that she truly mourned the death 
of Mike, for as a brother she loved him. She had 
promised to wed him only to please her parents. 
Effie showed Mary the faded pink envelope with 
229 


the letter within, which she had preserved all the 
long years. Just think of it, said Effie, but for 
you finding that letter, and being such a true 
Ohiistian to deliver it to its owner, and sacrificing 
your own hopes, I might have been a drunkard's 
wife. And she bent her still erect form to kiss 
the soft cheek of still short Mary. 

I am well paid for doing right, said Mary. God 
directs all our ways, if He takes away one thing, 
it is to replace it with something better. I feel 
ever to praise Him. As for my Jove for Gerome, 
it faded like the moon's light wlien the king of 
day rises in his glory. Yes, my first love was 
moon-shine, my second the sun all glorious. 

Later Mary and her husband visited Black Hole, 
the place was deserted; the timber had been 
slaughtered by the woodman's ax, only stumps 
and under-brush remained ; even the logs of the 
shanties had been burned. They learned from a 
half-breed that dwelt near, that "Dare Devil 
Dick” had been killed by a sharper in a quarrel 
over a game of cards, many years before. 

Mary sighed as she thought of her father, lost, 
lost forever. Then her thoughts flew to her bless- 
ed mother who awaited her on the Golden Shore ; 
where, too, a crown awaited lier. Surely God's 
angel had guided her through dangerous paths to 
peacefuly, happy days. And, to, He has sent the 
star of hope to guide her on. 

A small sweet voice whispered to her : "Many 
daughters have done virtueously, but thou excell- 
est them all.’ 



230 


JAIL BIRD. 

“Jailbirds! Jailbirds! Shame! Shame! You 
better go home ask where your pa is.’ 

“There! take that for your impudence.’ 

“Murder! murder! You she-devil! You‘ll be 
sent to the Reform school now.’ 

This, Rev. Coleman heard as he sat by the wind- 
ow of his cousin^s residence in the hamlet of Rose- 
well. It was his cousin‘s son, Roy, accompanied 
by some of his neighbors, children ; they were 
teasing some poorly clad children that were 
passing by on the sidewalk. The eldest was a girl 
of ten summers, with queenly form and dashing 
eyes. The next was a girl of six; then a boy of 
four, and a child in a baby-carriage ; these were 
the jail-birds referred to. The children went on as 
Roy rushed into the house, his nose bleeding, and 
yelling like a wild Indian. 

Rev. Coleman kept silent while Roy related his 
grievances. He stated how he was swinging in 
the hammock when the jaikbirds came along and 
hit him with a stick, and then ran away. 

“Oh ! the terrible creatures.” said his mother, 
“their father is in jail, and the children runabout 
the streets as they choose, a menance to the town. 
Really we shall have to make a plea to have them 
sent to the Reform School. It is a wonder that 
they did nob put out dear Roy‘s eye. I fear they 
have broken the bridge of his nose. Will you 
please look at him, Mr. Coleman? I think I had 
better phone for my husband and the doctor.’ 

231 


Rev. Coleman arose from his seat by the open 
window, a smile playing over his usually grave 
face. He looked at Roy and said : 

‘‘The injury is a slight one, not half what he de- 
served. Do you know, Mrs. Morse, that you are 
ruining that boy? It is he that will, in course of 
time, be sent to the Reform school.’ 

“How can you talk that way, Mr. Coleman? 
You don‘t know whose brats those are. Their fath- 
er is in jail. They live in that shanty by the 
track. Their father was too lazy to work even 
when folks gave him a job, and their mother took 
in washing until she got sick, and then he stole. 
Folks watched and he was caught stealing chick- 
ens one night. He made a pitiful plea in court. 
He said : ‘I have been ill, and my wife took washing 
to support us until she got sick, and tlie doctor 
said she must have nourishing food, we were actual- 
ly starving,’ said he “I had no money to buy food, 
and could secure no light work, lienee tried heavy 
work, I endured it for two days, and the next 
morning could scarcely dress myself. The boss 
would not pay me because I quit work. He lived 
near me and kept fowls, and they had ruined our 
small garden. ' He only laughed when I told him 
of it. I could not see my wife and children starve, 
and did not consider it stealing to take from one 
that owed me and would not pay me, I took some 
eggs that had been laid in our garden, a chicken 
from his hen-house, and an armful of wood to cook 
them with. That is all I have ever taken.’ 

But things were missing in different parts of 
the town, and it was believed to be his work, so 
he was sent to jail for six months. Well, us church 
people pitied her and the children, so we made an 
investigation and found they had but very little in 
the house to either eat or wear. We donated some 
of our clothing, and took up a collection and bought 
232 


flour and groceries. Well we looked after them 
until she was able to work again, and then we 
gave her work, I let her have my wash and paid 
her 50 cents a week for doing it. But she don‘t 
get my wash any more, nor any one else‘s if I can 
help it.’ said Mrs. Morse. 

“Why not? asked Rev. Ooleman. 

“Hum! Just think of what her brats have done. 
And, too, people talk about her.’ replied Mrs. 
Morse with a frown. 

“It may be possible,’ said Rev. Ooleman, “that 
the talks contains as much truth as the story Roy 
told you. I saw and heard all that was said and 
done. Those children were going past on the side- 
walk, as well behaved as anyone could wish them 
to be. Your boy and the others began to throw 
dirt at them . Still they took no. notice of it un- 
til Roy tripped the little boy, then the queenly 
little girl turned on him stamping her bare foot, 
her eyes flashing, yet she said not a word as she 
helped the little fellow to his feet and wiped the 
dirt from his face and hands, Then the boys liiss- 
ed at them and called them jail-birds, and Roy 
caught the little girl by her curls and pulled her 
over, and then the older girl sprang forward and 
slapped him in the face. Then Roy yelled Murder 
and rushed into the house with a lie in his mouth, 
and no doubt the other children went home with a 
lie too. And the poor children have gone ; it may 
be that plucky child Avill hush up the little ones, so 
as not to trouble their poor mother with griev- 
ances.’ 

“0 1 see how Roy ^s eye and nose is swelling,’ 
cried Mrs. Morse turning a deaf ear on the stinging 
truths that Rev. Coleman had uttered. 

“It serves him right, and if he could not see for 
a week it would be a just punishment,’ said Rev. 
Ooleman. 


233 


“You are cruel.’ and Mrs. Morse began to cry. 

At this juncture Mr. Morse entered, and wished 
to know what had taken place, Mrs. Morse sobbed 
out: 

“Oh I pa, those terrible Coleman children have 
been along here and hit Roy again.’ 

“What was Roy doing that they should hit 
him?’ asked Mr. Morse, turning to Rev. Coleman. 

“If it is the truth you wish to learn, I can tell 
you, sir.’ replied Rev. Coleman. 

“I do; out with it.’ said Mr. Morse. 

Rev. Coleman related what he had seen and 
heard. 

“Now, young man,’ said Mr. Morse turning to 
Roy, “go to your room at once, I‘ll see you later.’ 

“Oh! don‘t pa.’ cried Mrs. Morse, “Rev. Cole- 
man might have been mistaken. Perhaps it was 
the other children.’ 

“To your room, Roy.’ commanded his father. 

Roy obeyed. His mother left the room also. 

“Cousin John, did you say their name was Cole- 
man?’ asked Rev. Coleman. 

“Yes, his name is Harry Coleman, and a fine 
looking fellow he is too. He stated he had come 
from Tidwater, Virginia; he was just off a sick 
bed when he left there. He told me he had lost 
all he had, barely having sufficient to pay their ex- 
penses Iiere. He and his wife are botli educated 
people. She is a very delicate woman.’ 

“Thank you. Cousin John.’ said Rev. Coleman 
rising. I must go and see her at once. Will you 
accompany me?’ 

“What means this?’ asked Mr. Morse, mystifi- 
ed, “You have no living children, although the 
name is the same.’ 

“That is more than I am sure of.’ said the Rev. 
Coleman. “You know I have been married twice. 
Some 35 years ago my first wife gave birth to a 
234 


son. We named the little chap Harry, and I al- 
most worshiped the child. Later I was sent as a 
missionary to China ; my wife and child accompa- 
nied me. Her health failed, and in less than a 
year, she and the child, accompanied by some peo- 
ple from the States, sailed for home, that is for 
my wife‘s people home. I remained in China for 
a time. Soon after I received a letter saying she 
was dead. Then instead of returning I remained 
to preach the gospel to the heathen. My wife‘s 
people took care of our little Harry. Two years 
later I met a worthy woman, a nurse, and being 
lonely we married. I notified my first wife‘s peo- 
ple of the fact. I also wrote them that I wished 
little Harry sent to me ; that a minister and his 
wife would sail for Cliina soon, and that they must 
send the child with them. Soon after I received 
a letter saying little Harry was dead. It was a 
sad blow, but I never doubted the statement, so I 
made no investigation, nor did I correspond with 
the people but a short time. And when my wife 
and I returned to the States, I did not go to my 
old home, but came to Ohio where we have since 
lived. Wife and I feel a bit lonely in our old age, 
as she has no relatives, and I have no kin nearer 
than you, unless this proves to be my Harry and 
his family. Possible it may be he. Strange that 
God should guide me to this Iowa village to find 
my son.” 

“All things are possible, cousin,’ said Mr. Morse 
as they halted before a shanty door. 

Mr. Morse knocked and the queenly little maid- 
en that Rev. Coleman observed on the street pro- 
tecting her brother and sisters from Roy, came to 
the door. 

“Is your mother in ?’ inquired Mr. Morse. 

“Yes^’ replied the girl, with trembling lips. 
“Mother is sick, and — and — I wish you wouldn‘t 
235 


tell her how I slapped Koy, it will make her worse, 
but I couldn’t help it, he pulled Lucile‘s hair, 
and hurt Freddie. But I v/on‘t go that way again 
if you won‘t tell mother.’ plead she. 

‘‘There ! there ! Child, don‘t cry.’ said Mr. Morse 
“You only gave him what he deserve, and I shall 
give him another. This gentleman wishes to see 
your mother. He is a relative I think.’ 

“We have no relatives.’ said the child. But she 
led the way into the room, and after giving them 
seats went to her mother‘s room and told her that 
company wished to see her. She came soon, tidily 
though cheaply dressed, and, as Bev. Oolman no- 
ticed, every inch a lady. She answered Kev. 
Ooleman‘s questions, and he left satisfied that it 
was Harry‘s family. 

Soon after, through Rev. Ooleman‘s efforts, Har- 
ry was released. There was joy untold in their 
meeting. Harry had had considerable property 
left him by his mother‘s people; who, wishing 
him to remain with them, had written to his fath- 
er that the child had died a few months before. 

The children were delighted to have a grand- 
father; and, too, to have their own father home 
again. 

Harry Coleman refused to leave the town where 
he had been branded as a thief. He declared he 
should remain at Rose well until every one in the 
village respected him. 

Rev. Coleman, finding that his son was unwill- 
ing to return to Ohio with him, decided to make 
Rosewell his home. He disposed of his property 
in Ohio and purchased two neat cottages, one for 
himself and wife, the other for Harry and his fam- 
ily . Soon after they went into business in partner- 
ship, and as the years rolled by they gained in 
wealth and popularity. Rev. Coleman lilled tlie 
pulpit in one of the churches for may years. 

S235 


As for Roy, he took his punishment and became 
a man, and his mother now aifirms that his father 
was right. 

As for Harry ‘s children they are leaders in so- 
ciety. They forgave Roy long ago, and gossip says 
that in the near future, the fair Lucile will become 
the bride of Roy Morse. 



THE WOMAN TRAMP. 

Boo, Avoo-oo 00, woo- barked the dogs. O ! grand- 
ma ! cried a group of urchins, there is a woman 
tramp coming through the gate. Mrs. Orosby a 
gray-haired woman, stepped to the door and on 
seeing a woman in a print dress and sunbonnet, 
concluded the children were right, shouted, seek- 
her! seek-her Watch! The woman being afraid 
of the dogs had passed in the gate-way expecting 
them to call the dogs back and was shocked to hear 
the woman with saintly locks set the dogs on her. 
With a scream she started and ran down the road. 
The children laughed as she was lost to their view 
by the shrubbery, and they knew not that the 
dogs siezed her by the skirts and that she stepped 
into a hollow, fell, spraining her ankle. Neither 
did they notice a rig pass by. With one blow from 
237 : 


Dr. Moody‘s whip the dogs betook themselves 
home. 

“Are you injured, madam?’ querried the doctor 
as he alighted to assist her. 

She endeavored to arise but sank back again 
with a groan. 

“I fear my ankle is sprained.’ she said, pushing 
back her brown ringlets that had become unbound 
in her flight having, too, lost her bonnet. “I will 
take you home. Miss.’ he said, noticing her youth- 
ful look. 

“O, thank you, it will be very kind of you. I 
live in that house just below the grove.’ said she. 
He soon had her in his carriage then his questions 
began. At first she was reluctant in replying. 
But then as he still persisted in knowing all about 
the mother she said, “If you will not betray me 
I‘ll tell you the whole truth regarding my dilem- 
ma.’ He said she could trust him. Then she told 
him how only a month ago, her brother ‘s wife 
died, how that he had written home to her mother 
begging her to let his ^sister Fanny (that is me) 
come and keep house for him and baby Roy. Moth- 
er was loath to let me go but through pity con- 
sented and it‘s but a week ago I arrived. I have 
been out but once and that was to prayer meeting 
last Friday night. There I met Mrs. Orosby that 
saintly woman that set the dogs on me just now.’ 

“If I am permitted to use school girlsllanguage I 
will say, “I just fell in love’ with the sweet faced 
old lady, her prayer was so inspiring and she in- 
vited me to come and see her and her daughter 
Mrs. Wells and I promised to do so, but as yet I 
not found the time.’ 

“This morning my brother John came in in a hur- 
ry, stating that the Mrs. Wells had fallen and 
injured herself and the doctor had just left and 
that I had better go and see her at once, that he 
238 


could not as he must go to town to get his binder 
repaired as it had broken down and he could not 
be home until afternoon. I told him I couldn’t 
go, Koy was asleep and I was not dressed. Lock 
the door, said he, nothing can hurt him even if he 
should awaken. It won‘t take you half an hour, 
but I told him I could not dress less than tliat 
time. Go as you are he said. Men don‘t change 
their clotlies to go to a neighbors, why should 
women folks? Hence I came and lo tlie result. 
They took me for a tramp and set the dogs on me. 
The doctor listened in silence as he drove up to 
her lionie. He assisted her out but on opening 
the door she swooned. He carried her in and 
placed lier on the lounge. He cut the shoes from her 
foot and was bathing it with hot water as she came 
to. The doctor bade her be quiet, but she said she 
could not as the bread must be needed into loaves 
and hence tried to rise. 1 am a doctor, he affirm- 
ed, and my orders must be obeyed. The shock 
has been too much for your nerves. If you had a 
drink of milk perhaps you might feel stronger. The 
milk is down cellar, said she. If you will promise 
not to move while I am gone, I will get you some, 
he said, and as she assured him of her obedience 
he soon returned with a glass of milk that con- 
tained a white powder. She soon fell asleep after 
drinking it. She awakened as the clock struck 
one and looked about somewhat dazed. Do not 
rise, said the doctor. But my bread, said she. I 
have just taken it from the oven, he replied, with 
a smile tlian rendered his dark face pleasant. But 
Roy, said she! Here lie comes, said the doctor, as 
the little laughing chap entered the room tugging 
tlie great black cat. Roy must have some dinner, 
she said. Me has had dinner and Jimmy, too, and 
the nice man, too, said Roy. 

It is you that has had no dinner, said he, and I 
239 


have made you some broth as I found some meat in 
the cellar. The dinner he served her was a light 
one, as he said she would not be able to exercise 
much for a week or more. Now my young friend, 
said he, I must go, as it will not do for your broth- 
er and I to meet although Ave in days agone were 
chums, a trifling matter rendered us foes. O! said 
she with a frightened look, you cannot make up 
sooner. Now is the time, the accepted time, the 
day of thy salvation.’ A light shone in his eyes 
he querried. Can you forgive that pious old wo- 
man that set the dogs on you? Yes, I forgive her, 
replied Fanny. A footstep Avas heard and next 
instant the old time friends confronted each oth- 
er. The doctor held out his hand. Let us forgive 
and forget, John. We have carried lead in our 
bosoms long enough. Charlie, is it really you? 
And can you forgive me all? Truly if I am for- 
given by you. I forgive said honest John, tears rolling 
doAvn his manly cheeks. Charlie was likewise af- 
fected and in spite of harvest time the afternoon 
was spent in explanations and deep contritions. It 
was not long ere Mrs. Crosby learned her mistake 
and became a true penitent. Charlie and John 
still remain friends and are now brother-in-laAVs. 



240 


Seeing Him As He Was. 

“Oh Auntie, I'm so lonesome since my dear 
Preston Potter took his departure for a month's 
vacation in his country home.’ said Mildred Moody 
to her aunt Ruth. 

''You know Aunt Hettie Mason has often invit- 
ed us to visit her, and through him, I learned that 
they live but a short distance from his people. 
Her daughter Millie is about my age, and he says 
she looks like me. Aunt Hettie sews for his moth- 
er. He says they are honest people, but poor.’ 

“Of course I did not tell him that I was related 
to the Mason's, or that I had ever heard of them, 
for his folks are far above them. And now do you 
know what I propose to do? No, of course you do 
not, you good old auntie. Well I'll tell you, so 
liere goes — or rather, I go, for that is just what I 
am going to do. I'm going to see Aunt Hettie, 
all unannounced, and I shall not write a word to 
Preston about it, nor will I tell Aunt Hettie that 
I ever heard of the Potter's, for like most com- 
mon people, she'd likely tell folks that her neice 
was engaged to Preston Potter. It would be quite 
an honor to her, you know, and to good to keep, 
and perhaps his aristocratic relatives would per- 
suade him not to marry me, because I had such 
low down relation. Just think. Auntie, what fun 
it will be, to see the Potter mansion, and Preston 
none the Aviser for m}^ being around. 

You see I'll get Aunt Hettie to call me Jane 
while I am there, for that is my second name, and 
241 


I‘ll only take my plainest clothes, and as I look 
like cousin Millie, I‘ll wear some of her clothing, 
and by so doing, be taken for her, and thus man- 
age to get inside of the Potter mansion, and then 
I can see Preston as he is at home. 

I fancy I see him now, in dressing gown and 
slippers, reclining on a velvet coucli, reading the 
latest novel ; just such a rest as lie needs after 
working in the law olRce. After we are married, 
he shall take life a little easier; for I have a fort- 
une left me, and we will have lovely times trav- 
eling around the world. What do you think of my 
plan, auntie.’ asked Mildred. 

Aunt Ruth smiled. “Just the thing, dear, you 
can get a peep behind the curtain, one that may 
be of use to you, ‘All is not gold that glitters.’ Of 
Preston, you have only seen the outside, perhaps 
a glimpse of his home life would make you wiser.’ 
said Aunt Ruth. 

“Oh auntie, you are always insinuating that 
some one, is not just what they ought to be, es- 
pecially polished looking and appearing young 
men. I suppose it is because you Avere once de- 
ceived in such a one, that so embitters you against 
them. Well, I shall proA^e to you, that Preston is 
all that he pretends to be, and I shall find his 
home just as he pictured it to me, even the pond, 
where he and his sisters used to gather Avater-lil- 
lies.’ 

Mildred found her Aunt Hettie and cousin Mil- 
lie located in a small railroad toAvni of only a feAV 
inhabitants. 

Aunt Hettie and daughter ran a dressmaking 
and millinery establishment. Mildred AA^asAvarm- 
ly AA^elcomed, and the first day Avas happily spent ; 
the second day she began to ask, regarding the 
neighbors, and customers. 

Oh, the most of them are good to pay me.’ said 
242 


Aunt Hettie. “I have the worst time to get any 
money out of the Potter^s of any one, ])ut I sup- 
pose they have not got much to pay with, for the 
old man Potter spends every cent he can get in 
drink. Mrs. Potter don‘t care how things around 
tlie house look, if she only has something fine to 
wear when she goes out, and the girls are as slov- 
enly, and lazy as their mother; they have a son, 
Preston, who is a blow-hard, like tlie rest of them ; 
he is a lawyer now, they say, and engaged to an 
Iieiress, Tlie girls are planning on the fine clothes 
they are going to wear when Preston marries his 
Gold Mine, as he culls her, but I pity the girl that 
marries him, for he likes whiskey just as well as 
his father does; only tlie other day, he was down 
town with his sister, and when, they drove away 
she had to keep hold of him to prevent him from 
falling out of the beggy, he was so intoxicated.' 

‘‘Oh, Millie,” said Aunt Hettie; “The Potter‘s 
promised to have that ten dollars for us today, 
you must go and collect it.' 

“Oh, mother, I cannot spare the time, for I 
promised to have Miss Eastman's dress done, for 
her to wear tomorrow.’ said Millie. 

“Let me go, Aunt Hettie,’ said Mildred, “I can 
put on some of Millie ‘s clothing, and in the twi- 
light, they will not notice but what it is Millie ; 
our voices and looks, are so much alike, and I‘ll 
surely get the money ; you‘ll see that I am splen- 
did at collecting, I‘ll drum it out of them some- 
liow.’ 

Mrs. Mason laughed as Mildred appeared clad 
in Millie‘s raincoat, and hat, as a fine mist was 
falling. 

“Now where do the Potter ‘s reside.’ querried 
Mildred. 

“Just follow your nose and you‘ll get there.’ cried 
Millie joking. “Well, it is the last house on the 

243 


street at the out edge of town. Here comes Wil- 
lie Martin, he goes that way, follow him and he 
will show you their shanty.’ 

‘‘Mansion you mean.’ said Mildred. 

“It is more like a rat castle.’ said Millie. 

Mildred followed Willie, and lie pointed out to 
her, the Potter house. 

“Mansion indeed.’ thought Mildred, as she walk- 
ed through the pig yard to the shanty. She knock- 
ed at the door and a feminine ^'oice bade her 
OoME IN. She opened the creaky door, and en- 
tered the room. 

“Oh it‘s Millie Mason come to dun us.’ said one 
of the girls And without asking Mildred to be 
seated, she cried out. 

“Mother, Millie Mason‘s come for that money 
you promised her.’ 

The slovenly dressed girl resumed her seat with- 
out saying a word to Mildred, and took up a yel- 
low backed novel. 

The mother was slow in coming, on hearing a 
snore, Mildred turned around; and there in a dim 
corner on a lounge, lay her dear Preston Potter, 
in vile raiment. 

Yes, he was taking it easy, sure enough, poor 
fellow. 

Presently Mrs. Potter came into tlie room. 

“Good evening, Millie, so you‘ve come for that 
money.’ Then turning to her son slie cried out. 
“Say Preston, wake up there, did you get that $20 
bill changed I got for that cow?’ ITeston rubbed 
his eyes and stretched himself, then said, “Dog- 
on your tAventy dollars. 1‘11 keep the whole of it. 
I must spend lots on that homely heiress to make 
her believe 1 love her. It‘s blamed hard onafel- 
loAv to have to marry for money, when there are 
so many pretty girls among the poor; but hang it 
all, I‘ve got to have money, or leave the country 
244 


pretty soon, for I owe everybody in the city, that 
will trust me.’ 

“Well Millie, I guess you‘ll have to wait ‘till I 
sell the other cow, I‘ll see that he don‘t get hold 
of that, too.’ said Mrs. Potter. 

“No mam, 1 will not wait, I shall have that 
money toniglit. I am Miss Mildred Moody, Mrs. 
Mason ‘s niece, and I am here to collect that mill- 
inery bill..’ 

At this assertion Preston leaped to his feet. 

“Mddred,’ said he, “how came you here?" 

“It does not matter how I came here, but I am 
here nevertheless. Now sir, please pay me that 
money at once, and save yourself trouble.’ said 
Mildred. Preston Potter Hushed, feeling much 
like a treed coon ; he took from liis pocket the 
money and handed it to her. 

Mildred received it with a cool “thank you sir,’ 
and a “good-bye’, and a “farwell forever.’ He 
followed her to the door asking her permission to 
accompany her to her aunt‘s, as it was growing 
dark ; but she refused him, preferring loneliness, 
even in a dismal village street, to her dear Pres- 
ton ‘s company. 

On arriving at her aunt‘s, Mildred crowed tri- 
umphantly over her success as a collector, never 
relating her experience, nor hinting that she had 
ever seen Preston Potter before. 

In a few days she returned home, and cried her 
disappointment out on her aunt‘s shoulder, and 
sympathetic Aunt Kuth never said, “I told you 
so.’ 

Mildred, in the depths of her heart, was glad 
tliat she liad, with her own eyes, seen both sides 
of her ideal lover. And before promising another 
man to be his wife, she waited until she was sure 
that he was all that he pretended to be. 

As for Preston Potter, he never returned to the 
245 


city, butwent west, and was lost sight of. 

As Aunt Rutli tells the tale to other girls that 
are falling in love with strangers, she never for- 
gets to add. Now girls, before you marry, remem- 
ber the old adage. 

'‘Look Before You Leap.’ 




RING. 




“Royal Ratliborne, and so you have quit travel- 
ing after seven years experience , have you? You 
must have met with some adventures, perliaps ro- 
mances, too. It is strange you have not met some 
one to suit your fancy, and tempt you to resign 
bachelorhood.’ remarked Guy Gardner to a former 
class-mate. 

Royal whistled and looked pensively out of the 
window. At length he slowly turned, and said; 

“Did I ever relate to you a bit of my exper- 
ience at L — ?’ 

“No,’ replied Guy all attention, he then asked, 
“Was there a girl in it? Spit it out, I‘m just as 
fond of love stories as 1 was before I was married 
to Ann a year or more ago. You have not met my 
wife yet, have you?’ 

“No.’ replied Royal, adding; “She is not the 


246 


one you were first engaged to, is she?’ 

“WeR, No.’ admitted Guy with a fall of counte- 
nance, ‘‘But it is best to cover up dead dogs and 
let them rest.’ 

“Very well : we will, old boy,’ said Royal, “And 
by the way I‘ll tell my story. It was when I was 
traveling for a house in Chicago I got delayed in 
Iowa and missed the passenger train, and wishing 
to be in Wisconsin in the morning, I boarded a 
freight , train about 9 o‘clock in the evening. At 
a certain little city I had to change cars, and 
while walking from one depot to the other I 
noticed a Avoman hurrying along ahead of me. I 
saw her on the train as I was traveling. She was 
a handsome girl, tall and graceful, eyes like stars, 
and her hair hung in ringlets about her fair face. 
It was now past 10 o‘clock, dark and cloudy, and 
not a star to be seen. I quickened my steps; just 
then she was overtaken by a large, burly fellow 
who knocked her down and grabbed her purse ; 
then on seeing me he ran away. I hastened to her. 
In a half-dazed way she endeavored to rise, and 
as I assisted her she managed to stand erect. I 
spoke of calling the police, but she begged me 
not to, as she would be detained as a witness, be- 
sides she did not Avant her name to get into the 
neAVspapers. And too, she had received a telegram 
from an iiiA^alid friend Avho Avas failing, asking her 
to come at once. But uoav Avhat was she to do? 
Her purse, together AAdth her money AA^as gone. 

“O!’ said she, “if I had but Wo dollars, it 
Avould pay my passage. I am not acquainted Avith 
a person in the city, I have my watch yet, also a 
ring. Thanks to you for appearing on the scene; 
if there Avas a pawn, shop here, but if there Avas it 
AA''ould be closed at this hour.’ 

She removed her glove and took a ring from her 
fingers saying : “This ring is not brass Avill you 
247 


loan me two dollars on it and give me your ad- 
dress, and later I‘ll send you the money and you 
can return the ring.’ 

‘‘I‘ll lend you two dollars without the security.’ 
I said. 

“No, I‘ll not accept a loan from a stranger with- 
out security, for if anything should happen to me 
your money might not be refunded.’ 

“Very well.’ said I, handing her two dollars and 
one of my business cards. 

As she handed me the ring I gave it a glance 
and noticed it was no cheap thing. I put it in my 
purse saying, half to myself — 

“Is that an engagement ring?’ 

“Little boys should not ask question.’ she re- 
plied. 

By this time we had reached the depot; the 
train was coming, and we hastened to get our tick- 
ets, but as she purchased her ticket first I did not 
learn the name of the place to whicn she was go- 
ing, neither did she give me her name and ad- 
dress. I could secure no seat in the car we enter- 
ed so had to ride in the smoking car, hence lost 
sight of her, and have never seen nor heard from 
her to this day. I still retain the ring- I took it 
to a city jeweler and he offered me $45 for it, but 
I dared not sell it. I will show it to you; see, is 
it not a beauty ; No doubt an engagement ring. 
Queer she never wrote for it; something must 
have happened to he.’ 

Guy took the ring, and as he looked at it his 
face blanched and his hand trembled. 

“See!’ said he, “there as three L‘s engraved in- 
side. I bought that ring; it cost $50.’ said he. 

Koyal Bathborne looked amazed. 

Guy Gardner continued : 

“L. L. L. stands for Lillie Lucile Larkin, the 
girl I was engaged to.’ 


248 


“Is that all you have to tell me?’ asked Royal. 

“I may as well finish the story.’ said Guy, “I 
first met Lillie at the high school in the city of — 
Wis., and later at the Normal. We became en- 
gaged. After I graduated I attended the RushMed 
ical College in Chicago. While there I met Ann 
Milford and became infatuated with lier, or not so 
much with he as with her wealth and station in 
life. And the most trying thing I ever did was 
to l)reak my engagement wit Lillie Larkin. She 
had entertained such undying faith in me that it 
was n/) easy task to convince her that I loved an- 
other better. At first she was loath to release 
me, and I liad to be stern, and declared I should 
never marry her for I had ceased to love her. She 
finally released me but declared that no wife of 
mine should ever wear the ring I gave her, and I 
told her she might keep it. We parted.’ he said 
with downcast eyes, “but two months later she 
sent me a check for $50 in payment for the ring, 
that was two years ago, she was in Wisconsin then. 
She had left Iowa to reside with her grandmother. 
She is still single.’ 

“Can you give me her address, Guy?’ asked 
Royal. 

“Yes, if she is still there or with her people in 
Iowa. I was not worthy of her anyway. If you 
could win her Royal, she would make you a noble 
wife.’ said Guy, then continued “Ann and I man- 
age to get along, yet I feel if I had married Lillie 
my life would be less foggy. You see I married 
above my station and my wife‘s people look down 
on me, hence my wife wears the breeches, and 
that takes the conceit all out of a fellow.’ 

“I pity you,’ said Royal, “but as you have made 
your bed you must lie.’ 

Guy gave Royal the two addresses, and Royal 
lost no time in writing to her, and asked permis- 

249 


sion to visit her. She granted his request. She 
also explained that she had lost his card on her 
journey that night hence could not write to him. 

Soon after he visited her home and learned that 
she was teaching a few miles out in the country. 
It being a pleasant day he choose to walk. On ar- 
riving at the school he found Lillie Larkin and her 
pupils engaged in beautifying the school grounds, 
it being Arbor Day. On introducing himself she 
flushed but soon regained her composure ; and he, 
being of a congenial nature, soon became one of 
them ; her pupils took to him, and all spent a very 
pleasant afternoon. 

This day was only the beginning, he remained 
in the vicinity two weeks and gained in favor of 
all, especially Lillie Larkin, and all expressed re- 
grets when he was about to take his departure, 
Lillie looked sad, and on seeing the shadow on her 
here-to-fore sunny face Eoyal Rathborne improved 
the opportunity to press his suit, and as it was her 
wish he placed the same ring on her engagement 
finger. She assured liim that all the love she had 
ever held for Guy Gardner was dead and buried 
so deep it could never be resurrected. 

She wished to be engaged by the self-same ring, 
not in memory of her once fondness for Guy, but 
in memory of her first meeting with Royal. When 
the school closed in rosy June they Avere wed, and 
settled on a farm in Spring Valley. 

‘‘Farming pays now,’ he affirms, as ‘tis perform- 
ed systemetically. The farmers of the twentieth 
century are the Lords of the land.’ 



250 


Dr. Dunham’s Adopted Son. 

“I‘ll obliterate his name from the family bible, 
and burn everything that he has left; not even a 
toy of his boyhood shall remain to remind us that 
we ever had a son, for he has smirched the royal 
name of Dunham. His name shall never be men- 
tioned in my hearing. I‘ll sell out and move a- 
way, and begin life anew among strangers.’ de- 
clared Dr. Dunham to his meek little wife who 
dared not even whimper in his august presence. 

Their only son Royal, was a brilliant, handsome 
young man, and one they had always been proud 
of until recently. Some of the students had got 
into a scrape ; which liad been proven against them, 
and they were expelled from college, and the pris- 
on doors would have 1)een closed upon them, but 
they ran away, and Royal was among the num- 
ber. 

“No.” continued Dr. Dunham, “I‘ll not remain 
here, the derision of the people whom I‘ve ever 
held myself above. Royal took after my family 
in looks, and smartness; but he got his weakness 
from his maternal side. His Uncle Ralph had to 
run away, and I was fool enough to marry his sis- 
ter, just because I was in love.’ 

Mrs. Dunham closed her mouth tight; she dared 
not trust herself to open it, for there was much 
she could have said, for had not people always de- 
clared that, “Royal looked like his mother, and 
and from her he had inherited his kindness and 
251 


talent? And had not her parents objected to her 
marrying Dr. Dunham because he was such a wild 
young fellow?’ but she had married him in spite 
of their better judgement. Since their marriage 
he had steadied down and became an honorable 
citizen, and in some ways a good husband, yet not 
congenial one, he had become avericious and ex- 
acting. 

Their only son had been the apple of their eye, 
and much money had been spent in his education ; 
his mother even went short of necessities, yet she 
did not complain. Now a cyclone had descended 
out of a clear sky. The case was a criminal one, and 
the culprits so judged, no doubt were guilty, or 
they would not have absconded ; and Dr. Dunham 
on learning the story, hated his son as deeply as 
he ever loved him ; hence his hot-headed asser- 
tion was no mere threat, for lie was naturally of 
an unforgiving nature. 

The old home was sold, and Royabs name erased 
from the family record. 

They moved west and purchased them a home 
in a village, and settled down to live a quiet life. 

Seven years passed by, RoyaTs name was never 
mentioned, and none knew that they ever had a 
son. Dr. Dunham was respected, and his practice 
was extensive. 

One day Dr. Dunham was called some distance 
away for council. After an absence of two days 
returned, accompanied by a little boy of five years. 

“His mother died of pneumonia.’ said Dr. Dun- 
ham to his wife, and left the little fellow alone in 
the world. She begged me to find a home for 
him, and I have taken him by adoption and shall 
leave him my property if he don‘t turn out bad as 
our own son did. Little Roy she called him. His 
father was an engineer and was killed by accident 
two years ago.’ 


252 


“About a year ago she married again; he pre- 
vailed on her to sell her home she had bought 
with her husband‘s money, and soon after the vag- 
abond skipped out with all the money she pos- 
essed. She afterwards earned a livlihood for her- 
self and child by sewing, until she was taken sick. 
That is all I know about them ; but little Koy 
seems to be a bright little fellow, ^and no doubt 
will turn out well.’ 

“In an old newspaper I found in her house, I 
read the death of our son Koyal Dunham ; the pa- 
per was so worn, all I could make out was that he 
was killed by accident. It may be that you will 
lind the paper among the things in that trunk that 
I brought home with the child.’ said he. 

Mrs. Dunham became anothei woman from that 
day. Little Roy was the good angel that inspired 
her with new life. In him she saw her own Royal 
over again ; but she dared not tell Dr. Dunham, 
fearing he Avould loathe the child ; and some things 
she discovered in the trunk were hid from his 
eyes. 

Dr Dunham grew fonder each day of the child, 
who Avas ever his companion when at home. 

Fifteen years passed by. Roy Dunham, as he 
was known, was a promising young man of twenty 
Avho would soon graduate from College. “The very 
image of our Royal.’ thought Mrs. Dunham. 

Dr. Dunham Avas proud, as AA^ell as fond of Iiim. 
SoniehoAV the soft light that beamed in Roy‘seyes, 
begot a tender feeling akin to forgiveness in the 
heart of Dr. Dunham. And he longed once more 
to see his only son, and to tell him that he forgave 
him but it was too late, for he AA^as dead, the paper 
stated. 

One day Dr. Dunham Avas attending some pa- 
tients of a railroad Avreck, and Avas much surpris- 
ed, when one of them, a middle aged man, recog- 
253 


iiized liim. It was one of Koyars scliool-cliuins. 
He stated that lie “knew all about that trouble at 
school, and that he was positive Royal was inno- 
cent; but as he knew all regarding the affair, he 
ran away in preference to playing the roll of wit- 
ness against his class mates. He also stated that 
Royal had written home several times, but had 
received no response, and believing his parents 
never read his letters, concluded not to trouble 
them more. He then took up his profession as 
engineer. About a year after he left home he 
was married to a highly respected young lady, and 
afterward was sent to Mexico to help about a new 
railroad, and while there had met with an acci- 
dent, was taken away to a city hospital where he 
spent several months before recovery, and even 
then was unable to return home. He had written 
to his wife, but had received no answer; and lat- 
er he learned that she (believing him dead) had 
married again. This news caused a relapse, ])ut 
later he recovered, and is now residing in Mexico, 
a wealthy man of prominence.’ 

By the time he finished speaking Dr. Dunham 
was much affected, and hastened home to tell his 
wife what he had heard. 

After relating the story to her, lie paused for a 
moment, and then said. 

“Wife, what did you find in that trunk?’ 

Mrs. Dunham arose and left the room, and soon 
returned with a family bible, an old newspaper 
and a locket. 

In the bible she showed him tlie marriage of 
Royal Dunham, to Marie Moore, later the birth of 
Royal Moore Dunham, then later the deatli of 
Royal Dunham Sr., and still later the marriage of 
Marie Moore Duham, to Burke Porter. And tlien 
she helped him decipher the accidental death of 
254 


Royal Dunham, engineer. In the locket was his 
picture and little Roy's. 

"And you knew all this time that Roy was our 
oAvn grandson?’ asked Dr. Dunham, aghast that 
his wife should keep such a monstrous secret from 
him for 15 years. 

"Yes, indeed I did,’ replied she; "not only for 
Roy's sake, but for ours, for you would have hat- 
ed him if you had known. I dared not tell you, 
for we needed Roy just as much as he needed 
us.’ 

Dr. Dunham dropped his head upon his breast 
saying, "My punishment is more than I can bear. 
Fifteen years of mental anguish, through my own 
ugly, unforgiving temper. But thank God, there 
is yet time to mend.” 

A telegram Avas sent to Royal Dunham, and as 
soon as steam could bring him over the long dis- 
tance that intervened, Royal Dunham was in the 
embrace of his parents and son. No tongue or 
pen can do justice in describing their happy re- 
union, so we let the curtain drop on the scene. 

Ah ! true the day may be dark by clouds of mis- 
takes and injustice. Yet when the heart has 
grown weary Avith its burden of sin, God can bring 
it to pass that "at eventide there shall be light.’ 
At least such Avas the case in the Dunham home. 



25& 


THE YELLOW DOG. 

It was during the street car strike that Lawyer 
Lindsley stood on the side-walk trying to solve the 
problem of what to do. His residence was some 
four miles distance from his office, and he usually 
went home for his mid-day meal in preference 
to eating at a restaurant. But now he must foot 
it or go hungry as no street car dared to run. All 
hacks and livery rigs were employed, and all res- 
taurants and hotels were crowded, as feAV cared to 
walk home for their meals. Hence the staid Law- 
yer returned to his office with an empty stomach. 

Later in the day he set out for liome on foot; 
three miles of his journey was completed when he 
came suddenly upon a band of street boys in a va- 
cant lot, who had captured a stray dog and were 
in the act of tying a tin pail to its tail, Avhile the 
cur was crying pitiful in dog fashion. 

“Here! You scamps, what you doing?’ shouted 
the lawyer in a savage voice. 

The villians scattered speedily in all directions 
as if a cyclone had struck them. The Lawyer en- 
tered the lot where the poor dog was bound, say- 
ing in an altered voice — Flip, Flip, how much you 
resemble the Flip of my boyhood days. 

The dog seemed overjoyed to regain his liberty, 
and showed it plainly by his repeated bounds and 
the licking of his benefactors hand ; and at each 
call of “Flip” his joy seemed to increase, much 
to the lawyers surprise ; the dog appeared to be 
named Flip and to know him ; and too he was just 
256 


like old Flip tkat the lawyer and his brother buried 
under a cral) apple tree some forty years previous ; 
just the same shade of yellow, a white spot over 
each eye, one on liis breast, and another on the 
tip of his tail, and he was about the same size 
too. 

The dog needed no second invitation to accom- 
pany him home, and entered the Lindsley house 
as dignified as if he had been the owner of the 
premises. Mr. Lindsley was a lonely man, the 
great house sheltered, and servants awaited his 
commands; hence he ordered his dinner at once, 
and a sumptuous repast for his dog, whom hence- 
forth would be his companion, and in a corner of 
the spacious dinning room was set dishes fit for a 
king, all for a mongrel dog of the street. 

It was a surprise to the servants, yet they dare 
not disobey their master ‘s command, not even 
when the dog was permitted to accompany his 
master into tlie drawing room an lie on a fifty dol- 
lar mat at his feet, where the servants left them 
to talk over their master‘s strange conduct. “He 
is clean daft’ says one, “Yes plumb crazy’ said an- 
other, “All these twenty-five years l‘ve kept house 
for him he has had no living creature in the house 
not even a bird” said Mrs. Dingby. 

While they were thus criticising his conduct, he 
sat on a sofa, the dog tired, and full, after some 
days fasting, lay with is nose on Mr. Lindsley‘s 
foot fast asleep. 

The lawyer thus at ease fell to dreaming of the 
past. Yes, Rick and I were little tots of four, 
wlien father brought us Flip ; “a little purp’ he call- 
ed him. Oh, what fun the pup afforded us; Rick, 
myself and that dog were called “the happy trio.’ 
(Lindsley‘s brother was named Richard, and his 
name was Reginold, hence Rick and Rig.) The 
two brothers were as near alike as two peas in a 
257 


pod, and of the same mind also; and such a hap- 
py life they lived on the old farm. When they 
were fourteen years old their first sorrow came, 
dear Flip died, and they buried him with honor 
and placed a boulder at the head of his grave with 
the word ‘‘Flip” chiseled thereon. When they 
were sixteen years of age the now great city of 
Chicago came creeping nearer, and their father 
disposed of one part of his farm for a large sum of 
money, and Rick and Rig were sent away to city 
school. 

All went well until they were twenty-four years 
of age, then a beauty without a heart came between 
them, and the brothers (being of the same mind) 
both loved her. She toyed with them favoring 
first one, and then the other, thus keeping them 
jealous, each of the other, until hatred existed be- 
tween them. 

One day Rick accosted his brother saying. Rig 
now let us be friends. Hattie has accepted me, 
and we will be married soon. If she had accepted 
you. I should have given her up and made up 
with you, you see we cannot both marry her, and 
if she prefers me to you, I ought to marry her, had 
I not? 

Mr. Lindsley seemed to hear the sweet plain- 
tive voice of his brother, and even to see him as 
he plead his cause. 

He then remembered his own rage as he flew 
into a passion and said many abusive words to his 
brother, and then he himself went to see the fair. 
Hattie, his brother‘s betrothed, and on his mak- 
ing his plea she denied being engaged to Rick, 
and offered to go to an Esq. and marry Rig on the 
spot. He had accepted her offer and they had been 
hastily married. “To marry in haste, is to re- 
258 


pent at leisure,’ and had he not bitterly repented 
for the last thirty years? 

E-ick on learning that they were married, left 
for parts unkhowii and had never been heard from 
since. Rig and Hattie had not been married a 
week before she regretted her choice, and blamed 
him for the marriage. His mother began to fail 
because of Rick's departure and silence, and in 
less than two years she died. His father who 
blamed him for Rick's leaving, deeded his farm 
to Rick, and soon after died also. 

Hattie rendered his life miserable for him, and 
spent money as fast as he could earn it ; yet not 
long, it was scarce three years before she eloped 
with a dutch Baron by the name of VanRitter 
Five years later he had tidings of her death. He 
had never married again, and the God of Gold and 
Fame, had smiled on him ; he was now both wealthy 
and prominent, yet a lonely old man. 

The old farm was now worth a fortune, but it 
was not inhabited. Time and again he had ad- 
vertised for his brother, but thus far to no avail. 
The city was creeping around the deserted home- 
stead, and large sums were offered for lots to build 
on. But where was the owner ! It was thought 
that Lawyer Lindsley could claim it, for the likeli- 
hood was, his brother was dead, but he insisted 
on an extensive advertising before he should take 
such a step. 

"O! where is my brother tonight?’ he said a- 
loud. The dog sprang to his feet and eyed him 
keenly as if he would like to speak. Flip, Flip, 
tell me, can you? The dog seemed to understand 
as he started toward the door with a whine. A 
thought struck him, he smiled, a ghost of a smile, 
and said — I'm getting superstitious, yet a walk 
this beautiful evening will do me no harm. So he 
259 


sauntered out with no object in view, Flip (as he 
called him) was at his heels. 

They liad not gone far when they met a tramp ; 
the dog jumped and barked for joy? Here you 
are, Flip, said the ragged tramp. To the Lawyer‘s 
ears the voice sounded familiar. Is this your dog, 
sir? asked the Lawyer. 

Yes sir, thank you; if you have done him a 
kindness. God will bless you for it. I must get 
out of this or 1^11 be arrested again for vagrancy. 
Some ten days ago I came to this city to find my 
brother, and my dog got liungry and I asked for a 
bone for him at the shop, and they arrested me 
for begging, and put me in jail for ten days; now 
I am free, but must get out of town. 

Hold! A moment please, what is your name? 
asked the Lawyer. 

O ! What is a name? said the tramp with a mock- 
ing laugh ; even if I should find my brother he 
would call me an impostor. Tell you what strang- 
er, this is a hard world, it smiles on you while you 
are on top, but turns its face from you when fort- 
une turns, and kicks a fellow if he is down. Some 
thirty years ago I left this city because my be- 
trothed married my brother. I went west, struck 
it rich, then married a lady. We lived in clover 
until our firm failed. My wife died soon after. 
I‘ve lived an outcast every since. My only friend 
was Flip. I bought him when a pup because he 
so mucli resembled a dog my twin brother and I 
owned when we were kids. Oh? life was a joy 
then, and until the serpent entered our Eden and 
parted us. 

Oonie Flip, let us be going, we must be far out 
of the city bj" sunrise. You see the dog sticks by 
me in poverty, as well as when I was rich ; but 
where are the gay fellows that helped me spend 
my money? Some people have not the hearts of 
260 


dogs. I believe there will be more dogs than people 
ill heaven. 

Hold, brother Rick, hold ! I have a heart. The 
Lord only knows how I have suffered since I mar- 
ried your girl. She affirmed that she was not en- 
gaged to you, said Rig. 

Oh, brother Rig, is it you, and can you forgive 
and forget the past? Can you call a pauper your 
brother? said the tramp. 

You are no pauper, Rick, said the Lawyer. Fath- 
er deeded the homestead to you before he died, 
and it is worth a fortune now. Oome home with 
me, you know not how I have been punished for 
marrying your betrothed. Then Rig told his 
brother how Hattie had left him years ago, and of 
the lonely, unhappy life he had led, and how lie 
had advertised for him. 

There Avas more surmising among the servants 
that night when he brought home the ragged man. 
What will he bring next? one servant asked of 
another. 

There was no little stir among the business 
people, on learning of the return of the long-lost 
brother, yet none, as he appeared on the street a 
few days later, well dressed, and Avith Lawyer 
Lindsley, suspected that he AA^as the tramp that 
had been consigned to jail for ten days, yet some 
affirmed that the yelloAV dog that Lawyer Linds- 
ley had adopted, belong to the tramp that A\^as sent 
to jail, and the authorities had sought for the dog 
to send to the pound, but the dog had evaded 
them. 

The tAvin brothers noAV live together almost as 
happy as in childhood. Nothing but death Avill 
part them again. 


261 


ON THE TRACK. 



‘‘ITI go west, north, or south. I Avill not remain 
here another day.’ declared Etlieline Everetts as 
she entered the house. 

“Why? Etlieline, what‘s to pay now?’ querried 
her younger sister, Harriet. 

“Enough.” declared Etlieline bursting into 
tears. 

Harriet gave a low whistle. 

“Now, Harriet,’ remonstrated their mother, 
“don‘t tease Etlieline. Let her have her cry out 
and then she will feel better. Etlieline is of a 
hasty temper and is quite apt to do things she re- 
pents of afterwards.’ and she continued her iron- 
ing, and Harriet resumed her slielling peas, while 
Etlieline indulged in a fit of weeping. Left to 
herself the fuel of her passion burned itself out 
and she soon dried her eyes, saying ; 

“That Harry Warner can go the Dickens. I will 
have no more to say to him.’ 

Harry and Etlieline had been engaged for some 
time, and now he had written her asking an ex- 
planation in regard to a sliort flirtation, in which 
she had indulged, with an old classmate that had 
been visiting the family. 

“He said,’ continued Etlieline, that unless I 
wrote a satisfactory explanation immediately I 
might return his ring. And that is just what I 
have done.’ 

“Etheline, you have acted unwisely and will re- 

262 


pent at your leisure. Harry is a good, sober, hon- 
est hearted fellow ; perhaps a little jealous be- 
cause he loves you so much. No doubt the peo- 
ple who saw you out walking with Edwin, told 
Harry, making a mountain out of a mole hill. You 
should have written him a note inviting him to call 
and then you could have explained, now you will 
have to eat humble pie if — ” said her mother. 

'‘If — if — ,’ repeated Etheline, “If I get him 
back and that ring on my finger again. Well, I 
did not write him a word, just inclosed the ring.’ 
said Etheline haughtily. 

“Are you happy?’ asked her mother. 

“Happy as he is, I presume,’ retorted Etheline. 

“Well, when I get married there will be no en- 
gagement. I won't promise to marry the fellow 
until we are ready to go to the altar, then there 
will be no engagement to sever.’ remarked Har- 
riet. 

“Etheline, you had better go to your room and 
meditate on your broken engagement and how 
your lives will be affected by the separation, then 
Write him a polite note inviting him to call and 
you will explain. True there was no harm in 
walking around the town with Edwin as he wish- 
ed to see how the village had grown since he was 
last here, five years ago. Neither was their any 
harm in a social dish of ice cream, though both he 
and yourself was engaged, yet the tongues of oth- 
ers evidently have made a big story of it,’ said her 
mother. 

“Mother, I shall do no such a thing. I ve re- 
turned the ring and that settles it. I'm going to 
pack my grip and go and visit Nettie Hamilton. 
She sent me an invitation last week.’ retorted 
Etheline. 

The following day Etheline was off, and she 
spent a week with Nettie. But for a certain void 

m 


ill her heart she would have enjoyed her visit, and 
to all outward appearances, she did as it was. The 
day before she decided to return home, she re- 
ceived a letter from Laura Barber. The countrj^ 
and village gossip did not interest her much until 
Harry‘s name was mentioned, then a sharp pain 
pierced her heart. 

“We were,’ Laura wrote, “quite surprised to see 
Harry at the dance with Freda Foster for his part- 
ner. We knew Freda was in love Avith him, but 
were aware of his engagement to you, and as Har- 
ry rarely flirts, we were amazed. Harriet inform- 
ed us later that your engagement Avas broken off. 
I must confess I am sorry, for you Avere made for 
each other. One thing is quite sure, — he will 
not have to ask Freda twice. O ! O ! O ! as I write 
Harry and Freda are going by. He looks a trifle 
serious Avhile she wears a smile. Watch the pa- 
pers for their marriage license, and be sure to re- 
turn home in time for an iiiAute to the wedding. 
As she is the only child, Foster can afford to do 
Avell by her, and make a grand Avedding. Whoap ! 
my pen is like a runaAA^ay horse, AAmi‘t stop until 
she runs into a snag, and I guess Harry is the snag, 
so iTl drop him noAv, and my pen too, for the door 
bell is ringing. Adieu. 

Laura Barber. 

After reading the letter Etheline complained of 
headache and remained in her room. The follow- 
ing day she felt better and took tlie train for home. 
It was just dusk as she stepped from the train to 
the platform, and Avhom sliould slie see but Harry 
on the opposite side of the track near Avhere she 
must pass if she Avent direct home. He was talk- 
ing AAuth a man and did not notice her. 

“I will not go by him.’ slie declared to herself. 
“ITl go to the postoffice before I go home,’ and 
away she walked, looking neither to the right nor 
264 


left. There was only a newspaper at the postof- 
fice for her, and she hastily retraced her steps. 
She raised her eyes and perceived Harry crossing 
the double track and coming toward her. 

‘'No doubt he is going to see Freda, she resides 
at that end of town.’ mused Etheline. Her heart 
welled up with indignation, and as he neared her 
she fastened her eyes on the paper and never look- 
up as he slowly passed her. She hastened on still 
looking at the paper. She heard a footstep be- 
hind her and almost ran, for she felt it was Har- 
ry's, and dared not look around. The bell was 
ringing and the cars were switching, but she neith- 
er heard nor saw them. She had crossed one track 
when a voice shouted : 

“Stop, Etheline.’ It was Harry's warning, but 
she did not understand. Just as she raised her 
foot to step an the second track, she was grasped 
by the arm and pulled back with much force. As 
the car passed them Etheline screamed and faint- 
ed and was conveyed home. When she opened 
her eyes her mother and Harriet and a physician 
were bending over her. Some of her acquaint- 
ances were also in the house ; they had seen her 
run on to the track in front of the engine and sup- 
posed she intended to end her life by throwing 
herself under the train, (as they had heard of the 
broken engagement,) and that Harry had prevent- 
ed her committing suicide. Her people were quite 
mortified regarding the affair, and Etheline on 
learning people's opinion was shocked and stoutly 
denied it. Her people believed her assertion, but 
many of her friends did not. Etheline was soon 
on her feet and apparently cheerful, yet utterly 
miserable. 

''There is one thing 1 must '^do,’ she at length 
declared, ''and that is to write to Harry and thank 
him for saving my life, and assure him 1 had no 

265 


thought of committing suicide.’ 

She accordingly penned and posted a letter to 
Harry thanking him kindly for his thoughtful act, 
and asking his forgiveness for her unkind- 
ness toward him, admitting that she had a hasty 
temper. She also expressed the hope that he 
would be|happy with his later choice, and that she 
wished to be on friendly terms with both, adding 
she might explain regarding Edwin but it was not 
neccessary now. Harry received her letter the 
next day, and, much to her surprise, he called. 

“You are hasty regarding Freda.’ he said as soon 
as they were alone. “I did take her to a dance 
but she as good as asked me to go with her. And 
one day 1 overtook her with my auto and she ask- 
ed for a ride.’ 

For an explanation she gave him Laura‘s letter to 
read. At first he looked indignant, then broke 
into a merry laugh. 

“Now tell me about Edwin.’ he said drawing his 
chair nearer. She told him all there was to be told 
and he said : 

“What fools we have been, Etheline.’ and tak- 
ing her hand he continued ; 

“Please permit me to replace the ring.’ and she 
did not object. 

Later they were seen down town tegether. 

“O! see, I could have told you so.’ said Laura to 
her companion, but Freda, on seeing them frown- 
ed and said : 

“Well, he had to make up or she would have 
committed suicide.’ 



lU 


HER STRATAGEM 



“So you think of marrying that Joe Bond? Well, 
ITI just say this much, if you do youTl repent it. 
Old Bond is the stingiest man in town, and Joe is 
a chip of the old block. The women folks are but 
mere slaves — they dare not say their souls are their 
own, let alone their bodies.’ said Mrs. Sharp to her 
sister-in-law who had made her home with them 
for the past three months. 

Bessie, was an orphan sister of Mr. Sharp, and 
his wife found her willing hands quite helpful, 
and was wroth because Joe Bond had paid some 
attention to Bessie. 

Bessie realized that she was fast becoming but 
an unpaid drudge at the home of her brother ; and 
as Joe was pleasing in his ways, she had encour- 
aged him. But now her sharp tongued sister- 
in-law was spoiling it all, yet she would not give 
Joe up so easily. Her sister-in-law had previous- 
ly stated that Joe abused his mother and sister 
Mary with his tongue, so she formed a plan to see 
if it were true. At dusk she threw a shawl over 
her head telling the children that she was going 
to get a pattern of Mary Bond. She soon crossed 
the field, and was hurrying through the orchard to 
the back of the house, where she intended to se- 
cret herself and listen, to see if they were a con- 
tending family, suddenly she ran against Mary • 
both screamed and laughed in chorus. Bessie told 
Mary that she had lun over to get her sun-bonnet 
2d7 


pattern, and that she did not wish to be seen by 
the men folks as she came over without fixing up. 
Mary assured her that she was alone, that her 
parents had gone to spend the night in town, and 
Joe was doing chores. So they entered the house. 
Soon Joe‘s steps was heard, and Bessie stepped in- 
to the bedroom. Joe came in and in a hurried, 
tired voice, said — 

“Mary, I wish you would come and help me clean 
a few bags of oats. I want to finish sowing that 
field tomorrow, and no telling when the hired man 
will be back from the| wedding.’ 

“I will be out soon.’ said Mary, and he left the 
house. 

Bessie, spying a dress, cape and sun bonnet of 
Mary's, donned them; Mary laughed as she came 
forth thus attired. 

“I am going to turn tlie fanning mill for Joe.’ 
said Bessie. “You see we are about of a size and 
he will think it is you. Won't it be fun?’ 

Mary looked frightened and said — “Oh! no, 
you must not. Joe will blame me.’ 

“He will never know. Trust me to tliat.' said 
Bessie as she skipped away to the barn. Joe was 
waiting, and in a cross tone said — 

“Oome, let us get at it sometime tonight.’ He 
opened the doors to let in the light of the full 
moon. 

“Where are you going? Here is the fanning 
mill.’ said he. “One would think you had never 
been in the barn before.’ Bessie took hold of the 
handle, and as he seemed inclined to say no more, 
she turned faster and faster until the mill fairly 
danced. 

“Goodness! Mary, what possesses you to turn so 
fast?’ said he. 

“Noav, see here, old crank,’ said Bessie, in a 
clever imitation of Mary's drawl, “If I can't do 


anything to suit you, I‘ll go the house. 

“PashaAv! Now Mary, it was too bad for me to 
ask you to help,^ said Joe, “for I know you are 
tired, you have Avashed, baked, and done all the 
housework today. You and mother have always 
had a hard time — in fact, we have all worked too 
hard, and overwork begets cranks. When I mar- 
ry.’ added he, “my wife shall, never be a slave.’ 

“Do you think of marrying!’ querried Bessie, 
as she turned slowly. 

“AYell, I did, but I fear Bessie AVon‘t have me. 
Her sister-in-laAv hinted as much to Mrs. Jones. 
Said it was Bessie^s money that I was after, and 
Bessie knew it.’ 

“I‘ll tell you what I think.’ said Bessie. 

“What is that?’ asked Joe. 

“I think that Mrs. Sharp Avishes to keep Bessie 
there for a servant ; and too, they have the use of 
her money AAdiile she remains Avith them.’ 

“Do you think Bessie Avould marry me?" asked 
Joe. 

“I knoAv she Avould. She as good as told me so.’ 
replied Bessie, loAvering her voice. 

“There, that is enough. You can go noAV, sister 
dear. You don‘t know hoAV I appreciate your kind- 
ness. Here is half a dollar to buy you some rib- 
bons.’ 

“Only a half a dollar! That is a lot, ‘aint it?’ 
said Bessie with a snarl. 

Joe laughed aloud and said — “Well, Mary, it is 
all I have in my pocket. I‘ll give you more some 
other time.’ 

Bessie hurried to the house thinking her strata- 
gem a success. She hugged Mary and pressed a 
sisterly kiss on her thin lips, and Mary promised 
never to let her brother knoAv of the deception. 

It was not long after that Joe proposed and Avas 
accepted, and not many months passed before they 
269 


were married and settled in a home of their home. 

After the honeymoon had waned, and one day 
as Joe sat reading at the noontide hour, Bessie 
seated herself beside him and holding out her hand 
with the coin in it said — 

“Where do you suppose I got that?’ 

“O ! you have it yet, have you?’ he replied. “It 
is the half dollar I gave you for turning the mill, 
is it not? It seems that you are no spendthrift.’ 

“Mary must have told you, and she said she 
would not.’ said Bessie. 

“And she never did.’ declared Joe. 

“Then how did you know?’ asked Bessie some- 
what puzzled. 

“I recognized you as soon as I saw you, and 
heard your voice. Yet all is well that ends well, 
isn‘t it?’ asked Joe as he smiled and kissed her. 

And she admitted that it was. 

THE END. 



276 



OCT 12 1908 




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